


Whirlwind

by NotTasha



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Planet, Bad Weather, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Wraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 51,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTasha/pseuds/NotTasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team is helping out a town with a broken shield system, a penchant for tornados and a secret.  Things go badly for the team</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Half

**Author's Note:**

> SEASON: Third Season - first half  
> DISCLAIMERS: The characters, Atlantis, etc, all belong to Sony, MGM, Gecko, Showtime, the Sci-Fi Channel.  
> DATE: Originally posted April 21, 2007

PART 1: CRUSH  
He was aware of a buzzing, an annoying and insistent sound. He tried to raise a hand to bat away the annoying insect, but his hand wouldn't move. It wouldn't move at all, and he was far too tired to keep trying. His hand laid still and the buzzing continued.

He felt heavy. He ached. His head hurt – his back – his side. He was dizzy even though he wasn't moving, even though he was stretched out on his stomach, eyes closed, face turned to one side, arms out at his side. He felt sick. His neck felt sticky. His head throbbed -- was he bleeding?

It was hard to tell where one hurt ended and where another began, hard to categorize them – did his back hurt worse than his head? Everything ached. Trying to concentrate on one area or another only intensified the sensation and he realized he'd do better by drawing back and trying to forget it.

Yes, just try to forget – forget.

Well, forgetting should be simple, because he couldn't remember. Couldn't even begin to remember what had happened – what had brought him here. He could hardly remember getting up that morning.

Out of toothpaste. Had squeezed out the last possible drab last night. Had to brush without in the morning … using whatever paste had been left behind on the bristles of the brush. Needed to go to the commissary. Might try Crest Whitening toothpaste this time. He could always use whiter teeth.

Who didn't?

Get something minty. Not one of those strange new flavors. Vanilla? Who thought that was a good idea? Definitely not 'Lemon Ice'. Who wants to taste 'death' so early in the morning?

Something twinged, throbbed, hurt like hell.

Forget. Just forget.

Toothpaste. Don't forget to get new toothpaste when you get back. Didn't have time to get it in the morning. Why? Something came up. What? Had to get ready for a mission. The others were waiting. Yes. And where were they going? Think about it… think…

Not working.

Well, figure out something then. You can always figure things out.

He blinked and found only darkness. Concentrate. The blackness remained – so thick – so deep.

Can't see a thing. Can't do a thing. Why try?

So he let himself sink, to slip and hide. The pain lessened. The buzzing diminished. He let it go.

"Rodney! Rodney, do you hear me!" The buzzing suddenly formed into words.

The voice was demanding, and he blinked again, hearing his name.

"McKay, respond!"

Numbly, he moved his lips, but his voice didn't seem to work.

"Teyla, you're almost there. You got three life forms dead-ahead of you. Keep moving forward."

"I can hear voices." There was a pounding heard over the radio. "I have come to help you! Are you there? Yes, I hear people digging toward me."

"Keep at it, Teyla. Ronon? You've stopped?"

"Got some stuff to work through. How close am I?"

"You got about six feet from your target. You hear anything?"

"Nothing."

"Keep going."

"I am."

Above him, something seemed to shift. He blinked, feeling dust sift down onto him. Dust, dirt, spider webs maybe? And he cringed. He hated spiders.

"John, how are you doing?"

"Great. Just great. Yeah. I think I got her bleeding stopped. She should be okay if we could just get out of this damn place. That message better have gotten through."

"It will."

"You see anyone?"

"I am very close now."

"Keep at it. Why aren't any of their people here yet? What the hell?"

There was a pause, and then, "There was great disorder. They are only beginning to understand what has happened. They will come to help."

"Not soon enough."

He listened, swallowing dryly as the conversation continued. He felt desiccated, empty, crushed, hurt, trapped. Somewhere, above him, in the blackness, someone was moving.

He drifted.

"McKay! If you're out there, respond. McKay, do you hear me?"

"M'here," he whispered, his voice raw. "Here… I'm here. I think I can hear something. I…"

"McKay! Do you copy? Damn it! Why won't he answer? Where the hell are the rest of them?"

Cursing his stupidity, he tried to move his left arm to activate the mic on his radio, but the hand was totally trapped. Try harder! Get it loose. Come on! "Gah!" Increased attempts to move the limb only sent a flare of pain through his shoulder.

Letting out a sobbing gasp, he tried to move his right arm. It was less encumbered than the left, but he was met with impediments and had to draw the arm back toward his body. He was tangled.

He had no luck. The more he tried to move the arm, the more difficult it became. What? What was wrong? Frustrated in the darkness, he tried to free the arm as the voices returned to mere buzzing in his ear.

"Stupid, so stupid," he gasped, pulling his hand back, and trying to get it out of whatever had ensnared it. Attempting to jerk the arm out of the binding only sent waves of pain through his back.

"Ow...oh ow... Ow..."

By accident, his hand brushed across something familiar. What? Oh, yeah. P90. I can use that. The hand spidered, searching along the length of the weapon until he found the switch. And then, with a click, light flooded the space.

He let out a breath as he gazed out through a haze of falling dust. He was surrounded by shattered wood, big beams and smaller boards. Wood... lots of wood. And how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

Just as much wood as a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck…

God, he was embarrassing.

Yes, all around him -- smashed wood, shattered support columns and bleak broken stuff. Everything was coated in a film of dust and he blinked against the brightness of the P90's light, blinked against the dust motes that floated everywhere around him.

He coughed miserably, realizing just how trapped he was, in some wrecked building.

Great… just great. He closed his eyes a moment, a feeling the heaviness of his eyelids.

But the others... You can't let them down. What if... what if they're hurt?

Easier to keep your eyes closed. Just keep them closed. Easier.

Screw easier.

Think… think. What happened? How do you get out? And he opened his eyes again slowly. Figure it out. Look around you. What do you see? What can you use?

There was a console of some sort in the middle of the room. It blurred, and he blinked, trying to clear his vision. Was he home? Then why the wood?

He focused on the console, and furrowed his brow. Now, that's odd. Why would they have…? 

He coughed, the action sending another bolt of pain through him, leaving him gasping. His mind muddled as everything started to gray.

"Rodney, if you can hear me, respond."

"I have broken through to the room and have found the survivors!"

"Great, Teyla!"

"He there?"

There was a ruckus over the radio, a smattering of glad voices.

"You are safe now. I have found you. Is everyone all right? Is anyone hurt?"

"Teyla?"

"There are three of the Colo here. They are not badly injured." She paused, as if reluctant to continue. "Rodney is not among them."

"Ronon?"

"I'm still going."

"The Colo are in good condition, Colonel, and I believe they will be able to make their way out without further aid from me. Where is the next target?"

There was a frustrated sound, and "God, I wish I could help you guys out."

"You must remain with Albion until medical help arrives. Is she still…"

"She's alive, yeah. I've stopped the worst of the bleeding, but she needs real help."

"Where is my next target?"

"Hang on, Teyla. We got two sets left. Next is a single dot. Good chance it's our guy. About 20 feet from where you are right now there's…"

And then there was a pause.

"John?"

Quiet.

"John?"

"Aw hell."

"John, what is it?"

"Went out. Son of a bitch." Something clattered as if forcefully struck. "We lost one. The lifesign was just … shit."

"There are others still indicated on the Life Sign Detector? Chances are it was not him"

"Yeah… yeah…"

"We will find him, John."

"I'm gonna kill him when I get my hands on him."

"Yeah, me too. Gotta get him first. How close am I now?"

"Your almost on top of the indicator, Ronon. You got a lifesign right in front of you."

"I'm not seein' anythin'."

"Must be above or below you." A disgruntled groan, followed by, "How the hell does he get this thing to show three dimensional structures? Dammit."

Something was creaking over his head, and more dust was coming down. He coughed again, roughly, leaving him sucking for oxygen as tears formed in his eyes.

"Hang on, I heard something? McKay? McKay!"

The voice came to him in stereo – muffled from above and transmitted over the radio -- a strange echo. He felt cold.

"McKay!"

Above him, the helter-skelter ceiling was creaking madly and he let out a frightened gasp, "Watch out!" he called, but his voice was little more than a squeak. "Get off!" he tried to shout as he brought his head back in a futile attempt to escape. He'd moved no more than an inch, but the board above his head gave him a solid thunk and the blackness returned to his world.

 

PART 2: RUBBLE  
"Ronon?" Sheppard called.

"Hang on!" Dex responded, irritated. He was too busy to talk. He worked, tossing one board aside, and then another, moving downward through the broken remnants of the building.

"Ronon!"

"What!?"

"Back off a bit."

"I'm not backing off!" he growled.

"You're right on top of the indicator, Ronon," Sheppard's voice snapped back at him. "Back up a foot or two! Damn it, do you understand what I mean by 'right on top'? If he's under you…"

"Okay, right," and Satedan responded, chagrinned. He quickly repositioned himself, apologizing silently. "That better?"

"Yeah, loads. You don't want to crush him before you save him."

If it's him. Might be someone else again. "Right."

A raindrop struck him, and another, finding their way through the shattered ceiling. It was easily ignored. As he worked, Ronon kept his ears alert, aware, waiting, listening for that sound again.

He'd never forget that sound – the incredible roar. It had sounded like the world coming apart.

He threw back one board, one block, and then another, desperate to dig down through the mess to find their missing team member. He had to find him.

There was no telling if this particular lifesign was McKay or another of the Colo people that had been caught up in the collapse. So far, they'd rescued seven of the natives. McKay was still missing and one of the lifesigns had gone out.

Ronon listened as Sheppard directed Teyla toward the next pair of lifesigns. He hoped Shepard paid attention to where the 'dead' one had been. He didn't want to think about it, but they might have to go back and find that one if the rest of these didn't work out.

He didn't want to do that.

And he dug faster.

The team had come here to help the Colo. He hadn't paid that much attention to that part of the briefing. It had something to do with a shield device that had gone bad. It really wasn't a worry to the Satedan. He was just there to keep an eye on his people, to keep them out of trouble.

And all had gone well. The Colo were relatively 'simple'. Sheppard had said something about 'late 19th century' and 'Westworld' but that meant little to the Satedan. They were more advanced than many of the societies in the galaxy, less so than others.

The Colo were peaceful enough, but a bit anxious. The nervousness was probably just due to their their non-functioning device, or maybe the weather. They had seemed bothered by the clouds.

The Satedan kept his guard up, and kept an eye on the people. He left the sky to someone else.

He shouldn't have.

He'd been bored out of his mind, hovering about in their Governor's Palace. It was the biggest building in their little town, too big for the small population, and filled with a warren of rooms and hallways.

He'd been assigned to watch McKay, and thus had to remain in one room while the scientist worked. He kept his eyes open, listening to the rain pelt the windows and hearing the wind gust – like hands shoving against the walls.

There was a shield device in the room, and talk about a missing ZPM. It made the scientist fume.

McKay spouted off his irritation, babbling on about 'how could anyone lose a ZPM?' Then the scientist had left the room to try to find Albion, the Governor, to demand answers from her about… something. McKay had left for only a few minutes.

Ronon didn't follow. It was a mistake. A huge mistake.

Everything went to pieces. The rain changed to hail, pounding harder than Ronon had ever heard before. It sounded like ice, like ball bearings, and then there was the roar.

The next thing he'd known, he was outside, flat on his stomach. The wind screamed around him, the hail kept falling. He felt as if it would cut through his skin, and then, suddenly, it stopped. The wind quieted. Rain returned. He lifted his head, looking up in shock. The building, the massive Governor's Palace, was gone. It was if the thing had been blasted from the planet. Only a broken-backed roof remained, the walls were shattered, with and debris heaped all around. 

The town was dropped to its knees – only one building was still standing, the rest was torn to pieces.

He'd staggered to his feet. Sheppard and Teyla were suddenly beside him, but McKay wasn't with them and he pointed toward what was left of the palace.

They dashed to it and crawled into the razed building, searching, using the Life Sign Detector to guide them. They'd split up to cover more ground with Sheppard assigning targets and giving them directions. They hurried.

Sheppard had discovered the badly injured Governor right off – Albion. He couldn't leave her. Ronon might have considered it.

Ronon continued searching for McKay, and helping the Colos that he found in the process -- getting them out of his way. Teyla worked just as hard, heading in another direction in the wreck.

He'd come across a body early on, one of the Colo named Roland. He hadn't told the others. It wasn't McKay, and he didn't know Roland well. It wasn't a concern.

Now, there was another lifesign right in front of him. Someone was below him. He shifted boards, and dug through debris, knowing he would not stop until McKay was found. Another board tossed to the side, and suddenly a cavern yawned beneath him – a weird hole in the ground – hardly a basement. As he gazed down, just beneath him, he saw another pile of rubble.

Light shone back at him.

"Ronon, you got anything?" Sheppard called.

The people of Colo didn't have flashlights. There was only one person who would have such a thing. "Hang on," he responded, swinging himself downward.

He scrabbled, careful not to put any weight on the boards that covered the shape. He steadied himself, gaining his balance on the uneven surface as he gazed on the mostly covered form. He quickly considered the wreckage, figuring out what to move without causing pain to the one below. He made his choice and pulled away a large board.

The light became brighter, revealing P90's light, along with Rodney's head and upper body. There was blood.

Ronon moved beside the man, lowering himself beside his teammate, and deactivated the mic on his radio – wanting to find out more before saying anything.

"McKay," he said softly, resting a hand on the back of Rodney's head. The scientist's hair was darkly matted, and his back was torn and bloody. His pack was looped around one arm, the strap for the other shoulder had severed. Ronon frowned at this failure, knowing it had exposed the scientist to greater injury.

"McKay," he said again, feeling for a pulse, finding it. The skin felt chilled. "Can you hear me?" he asked.

"Ronon?!" Sheppard called again.

Ronon activated his radio again. "Found him," Ronon responded, leaving one hand on the back of Rodney's neck.

"How is he?" Teyla responded immediately.   
"Where'd you find him?" that was Sheppard.

"Some sort of hole," Ronon told them as he shoved away a console that was in the way and set about moving the crisscross of debris that still covered the man, trying to remove the shards of wood that had cut into his back. "He's pretty beat up. Haven't been able to wake him up."

Sheppard was trying to give him some medical suggestions, but Ronon didn't need the help. The boards, beams and shards came away as quickly as he could move them, and once he'd gotten McKay freed, he performed a quick assessment, looking for broken bones, severe lacerations, bigger trouble.

Bruised, bloody, beaten. Nothing seemed broken. But McKay had some pretty nasty cuts across his back and had lost a fair amount of blood. He'd need to be seen to… quickly.

Now, if he could only get him out of here. He studied McKay, figuring the best way to carry a man with a head injury.

"Hey!" the voice from above made Ronon turn abruptly, his weapon, whining as it activated, flew into his hand.

From above, one of the Colo leapt backward, startled. "Wait! It's just me! Ames."

"Yeah," Ronon returned. Ames was the Governor's Assistant, a stout man with a thin layer of sandy hair. Ronon didn't like him.

"We have to get out of here," the man insisted. "Now."

"Don't want to move him until I know…"

"The building isn't safe!" Ames insisted.

Ronon regarded Ames. He was on the verge of panic. Ronon touched his radio. "Sheppard? We got to get out. It isn't safe here."

"I know," Sheppard growled. "Can you get McKay out? Do you need help?"

"Ames is here," Ronon told him.

"Yeah, hey, looks like I got a couple folks coming toward me, too. Teyla?"

"I have located my targets and have freed them. Gilbert and Clemmon are well. We will proceed toward the street."

"Yeah, that should account for all the indicators on the LSD. We're heading out. Ronon…"

"We're moving," Ronon responded. He carefully unlooped the pack from Rodney's arm and tossed it up to Ames. Then, he gently hefted McKay into a sitting position. Rodney made a quiet whimper at the change. Ronon held the man against himself, furrowing his brow as McKay trembled.

Dex hung onto the man for a moment before he said in a soft voice, "It's okay. I got you. Gonna get you out now."

"K," Rodney muttered in return, his voice little more than an exhale.

The Satedan smiled grimly, glad to hear the quiet voice, but not happy with the sound of it. He stood, carefully, drawing Rodney's weight up with him. He glared up at Ames who reached toward him. There was something he didn't like about the man, but he needed help to get Rodney out of the rubble pit.

With reservations, he handed the injured man upward, letting Ames assist, but never taking his hands off of Rodney in the process. He needed help getting McKay out of the pit, but Ronon would get him out the rest of the way.

 

PART 3: RABBLE

Rain was still pelting down as Sheppard stepped from the ruin of the Governor's Palace, helping the others carry Albion. Blood soaked her bandages. 

Help was coming, he told himself as they made their way out of the shattered building and into the debris-strewn street. All around them, the little town lay in tatters. Icy white balls contrasted against the dirt street. Wind lashed.

He'd been watching the sky over Colo ever since it turned that strange shade of green, watched it with a keen eye from the front porch of the town's market, and wondering if what he'd heard was true.

Green skies are never good. A green sky is a sure sign of a tornado coming. But somehow, that didn't seem possible here in the Pegasus Galaxy. Tornadoes seemed to be creatures native to Kansas, and Oklahoma, and horrible Iowa.

They shouldn't happen here.

Then, off in the distance, he'd caught sight of one, just a wisp of a cyclone, trailing down from a cloud like a thumb. He held his breath in disbelief.

The appendage had played at the cloud, dangling, descending and retracting without reaching the ground. It was far off and harmless, little more than a whirlwind. And then another formed beside it. They twisted. Advancing, retreating, playing a game of hide and go seek in the clouds.

It had seemed magical and awe-inspiring, and he'd been transfixed for a moment, watching the devils dance in the distance as the rain came down in huge drops.

He remembered thinking, "This can't be good."

He had turned toward Teyla, who was just inside the building. Had urgently called her out to the porch, wanting to ask her if these people had basements, storm cellars, some sort of place to ride out a storm. She came outside, having trouble shutting the door behind her.

The wind had picked up; the relentless rain turned to hail. They were bombarded.

No time for questions. Shelter. They needed it. Now! Heavy hail pounded the roof. And then he'd heard the roar -- like a locomotive bearing down on them, shaking everything, about to slice them both in half.

He shoved Teyla away from the big windowpanes. They had tumbled down the front steps, and then he'd pushed her before him, into the darkness beneath the porch. The roar increased from locomotive to 'jet engine'.

She'd shouted at him, asking what was happening, and they had clung to one of the building supports. The wind screamed. Debris was sucked across them – leaves and rocks and loose bits of paper and whatnot peppered them like shotgun pellets.

The building above them, snapped, popped, moaned. The boards of the porch clattered and lifted, screaming as their nails were yanked from the crossbeams. Glass shattered. A little rag doll that he'd seen for sale in the market smacked him squarely in the face.

They clung to the post and clung to each other in the dim shelter under the porch, ducking their heads, tightly closing eyes, sealing their mouths against the onslaught. It felt like a sandblasting, it felt like the air was being sucked from their lungs, it felt like the end of the world.

It felt like forever.

And for those few moments, Sheppard had no thoughts except – hold on -- don't let go -- don't let go of Teyla -- hang on.

And then, suddenly, it was over. In an almost unsatisfying denouement – it just… stopped. Bits of debris, carried in the too-strong winds, simply fell, clunking to the ground. The wind stopped screaming – the building around them ceased trying to pull itself apart. Pieces of the market stopped beating them. They looked up to find daylight streaming down, raindrops reaching them – most of the floorboards were gone from above.

He'd looked at Teyla, staring back at her wide eyes, and had to smile. Her hair was wild and decorated with leaves and bark and bits of wood. She was scraped, and scratched but otherwise okay. She returned the smile. They survived it.

"That was interesting," Sheppard muttered as he crawled out from under the porch and into the street, Teyla right behind him.

He stopped, still partially hunched over, and stared in disbelief.

The market building had been ripped open like a carcass. The town was flattened. Nearly everything had come down. They spent one unnerved moment gazing about them at the destruction, the annihilation. One structure still stood, all the rest had been smashed, smacked, bashed about.

Sheppard tried to locate the largest building in town, the place where they'd left their teammates. No sign. Oh God, no. He moved out into the street, trying to figure out which heap of rubble had been the palace.

Townspeople milled as if bewitched, scraped and scourged. A teenage boy was standing in the middle of the hail-battered, trash-covered street – Fernald.

It was the kid who'd met them at the Gate that morning, a tall, lanky boy, who'd looked so smug and self-important. All semblance of arrogance was gone as he looked about with a shattered expression and a slack jaw. Sheppard grasped him by the shoulder and spun him about, giving him an order to go to the Gate, to dial up a certain address, to ask for help.

Fernald nodded and sprinted in that direction, obviously relieved to have something to do – something that he could understand – something that he could accomplish.

Sheppard moved up the street, toward where he thought the palace must be, and saw Ronon stand up in the street, a giant rising, tousled but remarkably unscathed. They ran toward him. He looked angry, relieved and maybe a little frightened – which only served to make him angrier.

"McKay!" Dex shouted, gesturing toward a stomped-down building.

And they had run toward it, chancing glances at the townspeople that staggered around them. Sheppard searched for a familiar face, looking for that certain uniform, not finding him. And they dove into that ruined place, dividing it, searching it, desperate.

Sheppard had felt powerless through most of the search. He'd found the injured Albion, and couldn't leave her. He prayed that someone would come, anyone, who would take his place at her side. He needed to help Ronon and Teyla; he had to find Rodney in this mess. The place was so twisted -- so utterly ruined. He felt so ineffective as he guided the others, watching little dots on a screen, watching a light wink out. He'd frozen at that moment, barely breathing.

Sheppard didn't relax, couldn't truly breathe until Ronon made his pronouncement that he'd found Rodney. Their friend was alive. Ronon would get him out.

Then a couple of Colos had arrived for Albion, and he were able to get free of that horrid wreck of a building.

They carried Albion out. Sheppard clambered over what once was a desk, what was a book shelf, clearing the way so that the others could bring the Governor to safety.

He was almost surprised by the rain when he finally emerged from the broken structure. The hail had, at least, stopped. The sky streamed, but the clouds had taken on a less remarkable hue, settling to a threatening gray instead of that weird, unnatural shade that they'd held before.

He turned about, desperately seeking, and spotted Teyla with her small gang of the rescued. They came toward him. Gilbert and Clemmon – a brother and sister -- instantly helped with Albion, releasing him from any further responsibility.

"You seen Ronon and Rodney yet?" Sheppard asked, ducking his head against the rain.

Teyla's eyes were on the bent structure. "There," she responded and took off at a sprint toward a dark shape that moved forth.

Sheppard followed.

Ronon stepped carefully through the busted stuff, carrying McKay tightly to his chest. Rodney's head rested against one of Ronon's arm, his face lax and expressionless. Sheppard felt his worry only increase. His friend looked dead in Ronon's arms. No... no, no no.

Ames struggled after them, hardly able to keep up as he contended with Ronon's long stride and McKay's pack. Why wasn't the man helping?

Sheppard understood. Of course Ronon wouldn't let some stranger help him carry Rodney. No, Ronon would do it himself, even if it killed him.

John moved forward to meet them. "Ronon," he called as he came closer, seeing the blood, noting the paleness of Rodney's face. "How's he doing?"

Big raindrops were still pelting them. Wind gusted. Ronon gave Sheppard only a dissatisfied look before saying, "Where do we go?" He glared up at the unfriendly sky.

It was at least a mile to the Gate, a long way to carry someone in the bad weather. The rain and wind were insufferable.

Around them, the Colo were gathering, looking shocked and bloodied, wanting help and answers, looking for direction. "This way," Ames said, breathlessly. "Everyone, follow me!" And he led the way toward the only large building that still stood. Ronon scowled at the man.

At least, Sheppard thought, it would be out of the rain -- give them a chance to check over Rodney and the woman, see if anyone else needed help.

"Come on," Sheppard said, "Let's at least regroup." Ronon just made an unhappy grunt, and continued moving, following Ames.

Sheppard tried to assist Ronon, but the Satedan seemed determined to get Rodney somewhere safe, and refused to give up any responsibility. Since he couldn't help there, John fell in behind. The Colo, in a mass, moved toward the last building standing.

Ames threw open the doors, revealing a wide-open space – a meeting hall with long benches or pews of some sort. "Come inside," he encouraged.

Sheppard groaned as he saw the place – hardly the sort of building one should take refuge in from a tornado. "Does it have a basement?" he asked.

Ames gave him a strange look. "Basement? No," he responded. "Come on. Everyone, out of the rain!"

And they filed in, Ronon with Rodney, followed by Teyla, then the Colos who were carrying Albion. Everyone else followed. The Satedan quickly moved to a protected-looking corner of the open space, and gently settled Rodney on his stomach on the bench, careful of his tattered back and battered head. Teyla was beside him in an instant, shucking off her jacket and putting it under Rodney's turned head. She frowned at the blood she found, and looked up to Sheppard in concern.

"Take care of him," Sheppard told them unnecessarily as he moved to check on the others. Ames was still directing, still holding onto Rodney's pack. Sheppard retrieved it from him, tugging it out of the Colo's hands. Ames looked at him, startled, pulling back, and then seemed to realize what was happening and let it go. "Thanks," Sheppard told him, and Ames gave him a little nod.

Someone decided to keep the worst injuries together, so Albion was settled on the same row of benches as Rodney. Others stumbled to whatever seat looked convenient enough. They sported a variety of breaks, bruises and bloody wounds.

Sheppard watched it all with a dispassionate expression, waiting until everyone was in and the door was shut behind them. Above them, rain pounded, wind whined. Nobody spoke at first, each lost in their own confusion, and then almost at the same moment, a dozen conversations started up. People began speaking in hushed and horrified whispers, relating the terrors to whoever was closest to them. The small children among them whimpered quietly, their cries like the mewling of kittens.

"Is anyone a doctor?" Sheppard asked. "Do you have someone with any medical training?"

The people glanced at one another and the name "Roland" was called out.

"Dead," Ronon said curtly. A gasp went up and Ronon grimaced.

"Great," Sheppard responded. He moved back to his group, and gazed down at them as Ronon and Teyla hovered over Rodney. "How is he?" he asked.

Ronon held the man up as Teyla worked at freeing Rodney from his ruined jacket and shirt.

"He has a head injury and many lacerations to his back," Teyla said quietly. "He is badly bruised and is cold. We should see to his injuries and do what we can to warm him."

Sheppard nodded, keeping his face neutral, as Teyla managed to cut off the last of Rodney's upper clothing. Damn…

There was a nasty laceration ran across Rodney's shoulders where something had torn into him, and a series of lesser wounds sliced his bruise-mottled back.

Damn. It looked painful as hell. Sorry, Rodney.

"He wake up at all?" John asked when he found his voice.

Ronon nodded. "I think so. Maybe."

Sheppard didn't respond, watching Rodney's slack face as both Ronon and Teyla worked to discover his hurts, to do what they could to tend him. Teyla opened one of her bandage packets and pressed the sterile pad to the worst of the wounds, trying to staunch the continued bleeding.

McKay made a soft sound, little more than a "Ngh."

Teyla responded with a softly spoken, heartfelt apology as she continued to apply pressure. Ronon squatted down beside them, gently holding Rodney in place in case he tried to thrash. McKay remained frustratingly still, just uttering a quiet cry as Teyla increased the pressure.

The rain continued to fall in heavy drops, rat-a-tatting on the roof above them. This storm wasn't over and this room wouldn't be safe if another tornado came through here. This wasn't good, Sheppard decided. They were in a bad place.

Tornados -- they travel in packs – someone had told him that once. He wondered if it was true.

The Meeting Hall was, at least, out of the weather. At that moment, it was all they could hope for. When the weather broke, they'd make a run for the Gate.

Everywhere, the rabble was trying to settle in, trying to take care of themselves or their townspeople. Families folded in, parents embracing their children -- brothers and sisters tucked together -- lovers held each other as they never had before. A group had formed around Albion, making hushed sounds as they tried to deal with her injuries.

She didn't look good, and Sheppard rather doubted that these people knew what they were doing. They seemed the type to try leeches and bleedings to solve medical problems.

With his first aid training, he was probably their best bet at keeping her alive, but he'd already used all the bandages in his personal medical kit. Ronon and Teyla were quickly going through theirs. He feared Albion would need more than a Band-Aid to fix her.

Fully half of the people here were injured in one way or another. Mostly little cuts, but here and there was an open laceration -- mostly bumps and bruises with the occasional broken limb. They needed bandages, splints, bindings, antibiotics, sterile water, medication.

They needed someone who knew what the hell they were doing. It wasn't going to be him.

They needed an expert.

The door rattled, and the din of voices stopped. The people hunched over their wounded, embraced their children. They banded together as they feared the meeting hall was about to go to pieces around them, just like the rest of the town.

The door rattled again, and then popped open. "Hello?" an anxious voice called, and then a man stepped within, looking wet, windblown and relieved. "Here's where you all got off to," he stated with a lilt to his voice. Turning, he called over his shoulder, "Boys, they're in here."

Beside him, Sheppard could feel Teyla and Ronon relax, and a bit of his anxiety fell away as well. "Carson," Sheppard greeted, "Are we ever glad to see you!"

The Scot smiled as he hustled in, toting his medical bag and shaking off the rain. Several Marines followed, along with Fernald and Dr. Meers – a new addition to the team. The Marines fanned out to help assess what they were facing, and the other doctor began to triage the wealth of patients. Fernald stood to the side, looking as if he wanted someone to tell him what to do next.

"It's bloody awful out there," Carson declared, worry evident on his face. "We didn't know what'd happened to you." The room was abuzz as the people talked excitedly with the newcomers.

A medic helped with the injuries. He was another new recruit to Atlantis, a young man from Nevada -- Max Huxley, a Private with sandy hair. Dr. Meer was tended to the worse-off. The other marines helped wherever they could.

Carson reached the back of the room, his face displaying his alarm at the number of injuries around him. "We got the message the lad passed to the Alpha site," he told them. "I didn't know it was so bad."

"Yeah, neither did we," Sheppard responded.

Beckett fell to one knee beside Rodney, grimacing at the state of his friend. "Oh, Rodney," he sighed, laying one hand against McKay's bruised and bloodied forehead. "What did you get yourself into this time." He assessed him quickly yet carefully, checking the wounds at his back, and the bloody mess on his head, checked his eyes. Carson didn't look happy at first, but his expression changed and said softly, "That's right, Rodney, you keep hanging in there."

McKay made no response.

"So, he'll be fine?" Ronon asked, sounding impassive.

Beckett told them, "He's lost more blood than he should. I need to get his injuries seen to. His concussion is what truly worries me. I can't be sure how bad it is without better equipment."

Sheppard frowned. "Don't you have that Ancient device?" he asked, remembering a tool Beckett had used before.

Carson frowned. "Not with me, no." He looked disappointed with himself. "I'll have it brought. What he truly needs is an MRI to look inside that daft head of his. With luck, he'll be fine, but I want to be certain." And he patted Rodney's arm.

Sheppard made a quiet, "Hmmm," at the news, having nothing more to say.

Beckett lifted his gaze and sighted on Albion. "What happened to her?"

Sheppard explained what he could, and Carson, with a 'tsk' moved to her side. Concerned, assessed her with careful efficiency. "We'll need to get her to Atlantis or at least a proper facility," he declared as he rooted through his bag with one hand. "Soon as possible."

"What about McKay?" Ronon asked, sounding a little miffed at the doctor's choice to tend to Albion before he'd taken care of Rodney's back.

"He's stable at the moment," Beckett declared. "I can't say the same for this lass." And he worked quietly over her for several moments, doing his best to discover exactly what was wrong with her and sighing about internal injuries and surgery.

Sheppard stepped back, watching the others in the room. The Marines were helping where they could. The Meer was busy, tending to the other injured people and giving orders to Pvt. Huxley. The doctor was gentle and quick, assessing the wounded, treating those who needed it most. 

After a few minutes, Becket frowned deeply, and declared, "We're going to need more help." He stretched his neck, looking for Meer and found him hunched over one of the Colo, stethoscope in his ears. Grabbing a roll of bandages from his bag, he lofted it across the room to smack Meer squarely in the side of the head.

He snapped upright, spinning about as he clutched at his maligned ear and searching for what had attacked him. With a peeved expression, he noticed Beckett. Placing the stethoscope around his neck, he gave his patient a nod and moved quickly to the CMO's side.

Before Carson could talk, he started to rattle off his findings, pointing to the various people he'd seen, talking about what the medic had reported. Carson nodded at the man's assessments, but stopped him with one raised hand.

He returned the recital with a list what supplies they needed, asking for a jumper, the medical scanner, giving orders regarding how they were going to move people out, instructions for the infirmary on how to prepare an emergency hospital for the Colo at the Alpha Site.

"There you go," Beckett finished, giving the man a pat on the arm. "Get to it."

Meer looked mystified. "I'd do more good staying here to help," he stated. "You could send the kid," and he jabbed a finger at Fernald who seemed elated to be given a chance.

"I trust none but you to deliver the information," Carson told him. "And you'll be back in two shakes. Now, go on then. The boy can show the way."

Eagerly, Fernald gestured toward the door. Sheppard gave Sgt. Cummings and Cpl. Madrid a nod, assigning them to watch over the pair, and the group took off in a rush, back toward the Gate.

Sheppard followed them to the door and stood for a moment, watching them go. The small group dove into the bad weather.

The rain pounded them. Sheppard watched them as they ran, their heads down to avoid the worst of it. He groaned unhappily and shut the door, not noticing the strange, unhealthy hue that took over the sky.   
PART 4: AMPLE  
Teyla sat beside Rodney and watched everyone. People seemed to have unwound a little and were skittering back and forth across the room to converse with others. She'd managed to speak to one or two of the Colo and had discovered that tornadoes were strange things on their planet – strange, but not entirely unknown.

During certain parts of the year, the Colo might see one in the distance, but never had one come through town before – not for as long as any of them had lived. The land was flat here, large tracts that ran on forever.

And, in the past, they could always raise the shield if such harsh weather arrived.

The weather grew worse for a while, lighting flashed at the windows, thunder rolled angrily over their head, rain and pellets pocked the roof. For a few minutes it seemed as if they'd lose this building as well, but the world outside quieted again, the wind ceased beating them, the rain slacked, and all appeared well.

The Colo whispered urgently to one another. From time to time, their gazes would lift and one would stare right at her. Teyla would meet the gaze, and instantly the eyes would be averted.

It was strange – for she expected condemnation from them, she expected blame. It was always easy to accuse the newcomers, the outsiders. It was common everywhere in the galaxy – when in doubt, condemn the stranger.

But their flashing glances were not filled with hatred or blame. There was something else there that she couldn't quite explain. Then their eyes would fix on Ames and Albion and their expressions would change.

She needed to confer with Sheppard and Ronon, but they were outside. Ames had done a quick census of who was in the room, had decided who was still missing. So Sheppard, Ronon and two of the Colo had gone out in search of survivors, leaving her to watch over Rodney. 

Carson had been mostly pleased as he checked over the Canadian. Apparently he could have been much worse, having escaped crushing injuries. He verified Ronon's early assessment that apparently no bones had been broken. His back would heal if he obeyed Carson's decrees, but his continued unconsciousness troubled the good doctor.

Beckett had done what he could for Albion, saying she was on borrowed time, that she needed to be moved to a better environment as soon as the others returned. She would definitely require surgery. He'd done what he could for them for the time being, and had moved on to take care of the other wounded.

She glanced down at Rodney, still on his stomach on the bench. He was bandaged. A quilt, decorated in whites and yellows in a pretty pattern, was drawn over most of him, keeping him warm and hiding his bruises. And she grimaced in sympathy, knowing that every part of him would ache when he awoke – and he would wake. She promised herself that.

She didn't want to think about how long he'd been trapped alone in the dark. She didn't want to consider that they might never have found him if they hadn't had the Life Sign Detector to guide them. What would they have done if he had been lost to them?

She rested a hand on the back of his head, avoiding the bandage that wrapped him. She reminded herself that he was here – that he was reasonably well – that everything would be better if he would only wake up.

And as she gently touched his head, she noticed the fluttering of his overly long lashes. A warm smile crossed her face as she softly called his name, "Rodney?"

"Huh?" Rodney voiced. He winced and then writhed a little.

"Rodney, listen to me," she insisted, continuing to gently touch his head, hoping it would keep him still. "You are safe. We are ALL safe. But you must lie still. You are injured."

"Injured?" Rodney whispered, his eyes still closed. "Badly?"

She regarded the question for a moment. "You have many injuries, but none that appear life threatening." She continued to smile, glad to hear his voice, realizing how afraid she'd been that she'd never hear it again. 

"None appear to be life threatening?" he echoed. "What does that mean?"

Even the argumentative tone of his voice made her feel good. "You will be just fine," she said, willing it to be true. "You have lost a bit of blood. Remain still. You have injuries on your back and they must not be allowed to open again."

"On my back?" his voice was small, almost childlike. "Are they bad?" He turned his head. "I can't see them."

"Many of the cuts are quite small," she said, trying to be helpful.

"Small?" Rodney complained, sounding stronger. "They don't feel small." Irritation grew in his voice. "I'll show you small." He jammed his arms under him, trying to lever himself up on his elbows, but stopped with a quick. "Ow… ow… not small. Definitely not small!"

Teyla moved her hand, resting it against an unmarred spot at his shoulder, easily pressing him back to the bench. "You must stay still."

He gasped out, "Good plan."

"Your head injury has worried Carson."

"That'd explain the headache… ow. Seriously, OW!" He raised a hand to his head, rubbing it dolefully. There was a pause, and the lashes fluttered a bit, nearly closing for a moment until the eyes popped fully opened. "Carson? He's here?"

"Yes, he is here. He will return to check on you now that you are awake. But he is currently tending to some of the others."

"Others? What others? The Colonel and Ronon, are they…?"

"They are safe and well, Rodney," she said forcefully. "They are unharmed."

"Where… where are we?"

"We are in the Meeting Hall, with the Colo. Many of them have been hurt."

"Colon," he spoke the name with bit of a giggle.

Teyla smiled again, remembering how irritated she had been with Rodney earlier as he continually misused the planet's name. "Colo," she corrected gently.

"Who in their right name would name themselves after that part of the anatomy? I mean, next thing you know, we'll be coming across the Anusans and the Rectolians."

"Rodney, there are no such people… that I know of."

"Colo…" he tried the name. "I can remember… something… I think I know why we came here." He paused, closing his eyes again and pursing his lips in thought. Quietly, he continued. "To fix their shield, right?"

Teyla nodded.

Rodney frowned in return. "But… why? Something was missing? Wait, they didn't have the ZPM to power it. What's up with that?"

"The Genii," Teyla reminded quietly, her hand still on his shoulder.

"Oh yeah," McKay said, his voice a whisper. "Great people."

"The Colo were misled by the Genii, and their ZPM was taken, leaving them without power for their shield system."

"Great, yeah. Good thing I let the Genii know how important a ZPM can be. Another of my shining moments."

Teyla continued, undaunted, "We came to help them. You were to examine their device, and to devise a means of making it operate without the usual power source."

"Yeah," Rodney said with a flinch, "Like that's going to happen. Make it work without a ZPM." He frowned, his eyes still shut as he thought. "And … something happened."

"Yes, there was a tornado," she told him.

"Tornado?" He gazed up at her, his blue eyes very surprised. "Really, like 'we're not in Kansas anymore' tornado?"

Teyla let her expression remain blank. "Yes, Rodney. Tornadoes are uncommon in the places I have known, but they are sometimes seen on other planets."

"Oh yeah… explains why I remember a building… on top of me. Oh… oh yeah. Wow. Tornado…" his voice faded.

Teyla sighed, not wanting to think about it, not wanting to remember that the wind could become so horrible. It was like the great storm that had struck Atlantis, but in a way this was worse. This tornado came without warning, had struck them without provocation.

There was something sneaky and cruel about them.

She sat beside Rodney as he seemed to drift. It was nice just to sit here, beside him, safe from the rain. In spite of everything, she almost relaxed as she looked around the room, watching the little families in the safety of the Meeting Hall. 

"Why the hell are we in this dump?" McKay suddenly asked, his eyes snapping open. "I mean, come on. Like, who thought a hard wood bench was a good place to put a sick man? Shouldn't we be heading back to Atlantis? "

"Dr. Beckett sent for help in transporting you and another who is badly injured, Albion."

"Algernon?"

"Albion. She is their governor, the woman with the…" and she paused to decide the best way to describe her. "… the light-colored hair and an…" She looked to Rodney, finding his eyes fixed on her. "… she has an ample…"

"Oh yeah, I remember her. Huge tracts of land." And he smiled, delighted about something.

"Her people are injured as well. Many are hurt. Beckett requested a puddlejumper." 

"Good plan. Yeah." He glanced about, looking annoyed to find he could see little more than the back of the pew in front of him, and only Ames and a few other of the Colo further down his row – huddled around Albion "So that's where the Colonel and Ronon went? For help?" Rodney asked.

"No, they have gone to the ruins with two of the Colo, looking for survivors."

"Oh, but help is coming?"

"Yes, Beckett has sent for further medical assistance."

Rodney narrowed his eyes; the skin around his eyes tightened. "How long ago?"

Teyla consulted her watch. She hadn't learned exactly how to judge time using their parameters. Feeling the length of a second, a minute, an hour, was still a bit of a mystery to her. "They have been away for 30 minutes," she informed the physicist.

Rodney scowled. "Why so long?"

"They need to set up an infirmary at the Alpha Site." She lowered her voice, stating, "Because it would be unwise to bring so many strangers to our home."

"Yeah, yeah, got it," Rodney responded, and repositioned himself a little. With a grunt and a shove, he pressed on the bench, attempting to get himself upright. He breathed harshly.

Teyla sighed. "Rodney, you must remain still," she told him, but it did little good. As usual, when he had a plan (of any sort) it was nearly impossible to sway him from it.

He groaned, loudly. "Oh… ow," he muttered unhappily. Teyla helped him, letting him lean against her as she brought him upright to a sitting position. The quilt pooled around his waist.

From across the room, a voice rang out, "What do you think you're doin'?" Carson charged toward them.

Rodney gasped, leaning against Teyla. The Athosian looked to the doctor, begging forgiveness.

"You daft man," Carson chastised. "Didn't Teyla tell you to stay still? Knowin' her and knownin' you, I think she told you exactly that, and you just ignored anything she had to say."

"They're not back?" Rodney asked.

"Who's not back? The colonel and Ronon are just outside. John picked up a lifesign, so they went out with a crew to retrieve whoever the poor soul might be."

"But you sent word to Atlantis that you needed more people?"

"Of course," Beckett replied, helping take some of the weight off Teyla's shoulder and assisting Rodney to sit upright. His eyes raked his patient, searching for any sign that any quickly stitched wounds had opened. "I sent them just moments ago."

"Thirty minutes," Teyla told him, stretching her shoulder a little and glad to be free of the extra weight.

"So long?" Beckett looked uneasy. 

"Ample time when you have people in misery," McKay groused.

"The mobile hospital will take some time, but Nate and the others should'a come back by now." He glanced toward the door. "And I told them that we needed a triage team immediately." He exchanged a concerned expression with Teyla.

Teyla stood. "I shall see what has happened," she announced.

"Right then," Beckett replied as he turned his attention to Rodney. "Now, let's see what you've done to yourself."

Rodney whined a little as he leaned away from the doctor, not eager for further poking.

Teyla made her way through the room. The Colo still huddled, still watched her with their strange expression. They looked almost – guilty. And when Ames stood, their gazes shifted to him.

But she had no time to decipher them, and she undid the door and stepped into the pattering rain and the humid air. She tried to close the door, but Ames appeared, muttering something about the need to take care of something in the Governor's Palace. He slipped past her, pulling on his long yellow-brown coat and moving toward the wrecked building.

Teyla moved into the street. The intensity of the storm had decreased significantly. Obviously, the worst of it had moved on. She quickly found Sheppard and Ronon where they toiled with Gilbert and Clemmon on a pile of rubble. 

The brother and sister, both in their thirties, stocky, with long darkish hair and looking a little too similar for comfort. But they worked easily with Ronon and Sheppard and together they freed a young woman from the ruins.

The woman, petite and pretty, but with a dirty and tear-streaked face, was almost giddy with glee as she was pulled from the wreck. "Thank you!" she cried. "Oh, thank you!" And she grabbed Sheppard and gave him a mighty hug. "You saved me!"

"Yeah," Sheppard responded, his voice muffled. "Team effort."

She released him quickly, much to the colonel's relief, and moved on to Ronon, then Gilbert, then Clemmon. "Thank you," she squeaked as she gave each a squeeze, "Oh, thank you."

"No problem," Ronon managed to mutter.

The woman, still ecstatic, grasped Teyla and gave her an embrace as well. "I'm indebted to you," she said with a sigh. "I thought… I thought I'd be trapped in there forever."

Teyla smiled proudly at her teammates. It was good that they'd come here.

Freed from the task, Sheppard turned to Teyla and asked, "Has McKay made any sign of returning to the living?"

"He is awake," Teyla stated happily. "He is already giving Carson difficulties and disregarding his instructions."

"Sounds like him," Ronon stated.

"He can't help it," Sheppard added, smiling slightly. "It's in his blood." John paused, and glanced toward Ronon. He looked a little disquieted as he took in Ronon's bloodstained clothing.

Ronon didn't understand the attention, and brushed at his clothing, and turned to Teyla to avoid John's stare. When he saw her expression, he asked, "Something's wrong?"

"The rescue party has not returned," she stated.

"Been a while," Sheppard responded, clapping his dirty hands against his pants.

Ronon stated, "Better check it out." And he began striding toward the Gate.

Teyla watched as Gilbert and Clemmon helped the woman walk toward the Meeting Hall. Sheppard started after Ronon, so Teyla hurried to catch up, soon passing Sheppard to jog alongside Ronon. She could hear John fiddling with the Life Sign Detector behind her, cursing about his inability to extend its range.

The Gate was a little more than a mile away in the wide flat land of the Colo. The Ring of the Ancients should have been in sight the whole way. Long grain-topped grass fluttered damply in the wind, causing waves to ruffle through the gold as they moved through it, but nothing else obstructed their view.

Teyla glanced to Ronon, who didn't seem to notice. John's attention was on the LSD. "Colonel," she called softly.

He lifted his head to see what she wanted, and then stared beyond her. "What the…? Where the hell's the Gate?"

Ronon seemed to realize it for the first time, and he glanced back to Sheppard. "This is bad," he muttered.

Sheppard dipped his head again, as if the LSD might provide answers, and gave a shout. "Hang on, I'm picking up something. Someone's near the DHD." No one was in sight. If anyone lurked there, they were in hiding – along with the Gate. 

They drew their weapons and broke off in a trot to close the distance, pausing when they were within range of it. There was little cover, only the waving wheat that came up to their knees.

With a hand signal, Sheppard split them up, sending Ronon to the right, Teyla to the left, and he took the center.

The earth was still damp as they warily circled around, surrounding the DHD. Weapons held ready, they waited for movement. Someone was hunkered down at the base of the device. They were not taking chances.

Teyla moved, walking in a sideways step, her feet pressing against the battered stalks of grain. She regarded the grass for a moment, knowing that earlier the stalks had stood tall. Something had flattened them down, carving a channel.

She came about, and caught sight of the shape hunched under the DHD, and dropped her gun to her side.

"Fernald!" she called. "Fernald!"

The boy sat with his knees drawn to his chest, one arm wrapped around the base of the DHD, the other clasped to the top of his head, pressing it into the DHD's pedestal. His eyes were tightly shut as he embraced the structure for all he was worth.

"Fernald!" Teyla called again, and the boy moved his arm and looked at her with eyes like a panicked animal. Bruised and slashed, he seemed beaten.

He made a strange sound as he saw her, a gasp of relief. "It came at me. It came right at me!" his voice quavered and he began to sob, still clutching at the DHD.

She returned her 9mm to its holster and squatted down beside the young man. "It is gone," she assured him. "The tornado is gone."

In one quick movement, Fernald released his stranglehold on the DHD and flung himself at Teyla, wrapping long thin arms around her neck and crying into her shoulder as if he were a mere babe. He bawled. "It just came and I had nowhere to go! I didn't know what to do. I just… I just… I had to hold on!"

"You are safe now," she assured quietly, patting his back. "You will be fine."

"I just held on, and it was loud. Oh, it was so loud!" He wept noisily, clutching at the Athosian. "It tried to pull me off! I had to hold on so tight!"

"It's gone now. It's gone," Teyla soothed, holding him, rocking him slightly and wishing she had a handkerchief to save her shoulder, wishing she still had her jacket. Something moved behind her.

Fernald startled, pulling away from her and looking over her shoulder in surprise. Teyla turned to find Ronon and Sheppard.

"The others," Sheppard asked urgently. "Where are they?"

"I… I… I…" Fernald gasped between the sobs as he shook. "I just…held on. It was all around me. I didn't know what to do!"

"We need to know," Sheppard urged. "We need to know where they are."

"I… I…" he trembled like a newborn animal.

With a disgusted look, Ronon reached down, grasped hold of Fernald's narrow shoulder, and gave a mighty tug. Resigned and defeated, Fernald released his death grip on Teyla and let Ronon yank him to his feet.

"Where are the others?" Ronon demanded bluntly.

They stared at each other, the big Satedan and the kid. Oddly, they were nearly the same height, but Fernald hunched his shoulders until he appeared nearly a head shorter than the former Runner.

"I didn't know what to do," Fernald insisted, averting his eyes.

Ronon grimaced. He clamped his hands on the boy's shoulders, one at a time, making an audible sound as he slammed down his mighty mitts. "We don't have time for this," he stated.

"I'm sorry…" Fernald responded, a quaver in his voice, hunching further.

For that, he got a hard shake, hard enough to rattle the battered boy's teeth. "Enough!" the Satedan demanded. 

Fernald gasped in surprise at the sudden shake. It was over as quickly as it started, and he jiggling his head, trying to clear it.

"You survived," Ronon reminded, his voice sharp as he steadied the young man. "What happened to the rest of them?"

Fernald's gaze took in Ronon's severe expression, and he straightened a little. "They got through. They'd told me to stay, to wait and help when more of your people started coming back." He drew a deep breath. "Then it came. The tornado -- right at me. Right at the Ring."

Sheppard blew out a breath, staring at the spot beyond the DHD where the Gate should have been. Only the dais remained. He moved away from the group.

The kid wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging himself. "All I could do was hang on." He squinted, and whispered hoarsely, "It was horrible. I was so… so scared." And he lowered his head again, looking deeply ashamed.

"You did good," Ronon finally decided, slapping him hard, and Fernald stumbled a bit before nodding again.

"You performed bravely," Teyla assured him. "You are to be commended." And she touched his shoulder gently, inviting an embrace, only to be surprised when he turned away from her to move closer to Ronon, standing tall and putting on a blank face.

Sheppard kept moving through the wheat, coming to an abrupt stop. "Shit…" he muttered. "Shit… shit… shit… SHIT!"

Teyla moved away from the kid. "Colonel?" she queried.

"Found the Gate," Sheppard said with a sigh.

She came alongside the American and gazed to the ground before them. The Gate lay on its face, impacted into the earth, nestled in the grain. She glanced up to the base. The tornado, with its tremendous power, must have twisted the Gate's mooring, must have broken the base and freed it. She returned his gaze to the downed Gate, wondering about the noise it must have made when it fell.

PART 5: RUMBLE  
The rumbling of the crowd instantly stopped the moment Ronon opened the door to the Meeting Hall. Sheppard, Teyla and Ronon walked in with Fernald right behind them. Curious expressions turned their way.

Fernald broke off, trotting to a small group of people about his age, and started talking to them in a hushed voice, using wild gestures. Sheppard and the others made a beeline to the back of the room where Beckett was talking to Rodney.

The scientist sat forward, his head in his hands, grouchily answering questions. Beckett leaned toward the man, talking softly. Carson smiled at their approach, obviously gladdened to have them back, but the carefree expression fell when they reached him.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

"They're not coming," Sheppard responded, then nodded to the Canadian who slowly raised his head to glare at him. "How's he doing?"

"Far from splendid," Beckett replied. "But coming around. He's going to have a headache for some time. Shouldn't be movin' around. Those cuts and bruises need a chance to mend. Should be in bed, if you ask…"

"What exactly did you mean," Rodney cut in abruptly, "No one's coming?"

"Well, we got trouble," John explained. "Seems that another one of those tornadoes came through that area and kinda sideswiped the Gate. Don't know how much torque a Gate can take but…"

"What?" Rodney cried, jumping to his feet, and instantly regretted the idea. He fell back to the seat, hissing miserably as he hunched his hurt shoulders and rested his even-paler head in his hands again. "Ow…" he groaned as his lips quivered.

Beckett rested a hand gingerly on his arm. "Now you know why I told you to keep still."

"I'm… I'm going to be sick…" he said softly.

Carson, ready, jammed a bucket under his head just in time. Sheppard and the others backed up a step or two as the scientist retched, and Beckett gently patted him on an unmarred part of his back. "There, there," the Scot crooned. "That's what you get for doin' the opposite of what I've told you."

"I hate this," McKay mumbled between painful spasms.

"I know, I know," Beckett responded sympathetically, glancing up to the others. "It's not like any of us like it."

"Yeah, McKay," Sheppard said, keeping a jovial tone to his voice, even though he hated seeing his friend like this. "Think you can hurry this up?"

Rodney just lifted his gaze for a moment at Sheppard, shooting death at him with his gaze.

When it appeared McKay was done, Carson took back the bucket, clamping a board over the top before he jammed it under the bench and handed Rodney a wet rag.

"It's not like I can help it," McKay whined, wiping his face, and accepting the cup that Beckett handed him.

Carson told him, "No more jumping to your feet like that. It's no good for your head."

"Tell me about it," McKay said, taking a drink. His brow furrowed and he looked toward Sheppard. "How?" he asked. 

"How now?" Sheppard replied, confused at the question.

Rodney gave him a dirty look. "How did the Gate fall?"

Ronon shrugged. "Fast?" he tried. "Probably. Wasn't there to see it."

Rodney glared.

"It fell forward," Teyla explained. "And ended up flat on the ground not far from the base."

"Forward? Face down?" McKay's angry expression was replaced with something softer and more frightened. "We're trapped?"

"Wait... wait… Maybe it's not so bad," Sheppard tried, "I read a report where SG1 came across the same thing and ..."

"Not the same! Not the same. That Gate was on its back... this Gate is on its front, didn't you hear her? No Kawoosh... no wormhole," McKay gibbered. "We're trapped!"

"Oh," Sheppard responded.

"Trapped!" McKay repeated.

"Yeah, I got it," Sheppard replied, frowning deeply as this fact set in.

"Great… Fantastic," McKay responded, resting his head in his hands again.

Beckett looked hopeful. "But we just wait for the Daedalus to come pick us up. Not so bad then," he said with a smile. "How long before we see our boys? Should I start getting our patients ready for transport?"

"Not unless it takes you an awful long time to prep them," McKay grumbled. "They're two weeks out."

"Two weeks?" Beckett echoed, all the sunny hopefulness draining from his face.

"You know, they DO have to travel to Earth and back. They're not always around the corner just hanging out, waiting for us to get into trouble so that they can bail us out," grumbled Rodney. "So we have two weeks of fun here on Planet Fun."

Sheppard sighed, watching Rodney. He looked miserable, his shoulders covered with butterfly closures and bandages. A dressing wrapped around his head made him look a little that pissed off fife player from "the Spirit of 76". He'd gained a quilt that was currently wrapped around his waist; his upper clothing had been a total loss. He was still too pale and looked as if he really should be ensconced in Beckett's infirmary.

And Albion wasn't improving, Sheppard realized, watching Beckett move back to check on the woman. The doctor's face was bleak as he hunched over her, checking her vitals again.

There were a dozen other people here that could use a visit to a fully stocked hospital. Beckett had done the best he could for all of them. He was the finest doctor in the galaxy, and they could ask for no better, but their supplies were short. Two weeks was an awful long time to wait.

Outside, thunder rumbled through the sky.

"You got any ideas, McKay?" Sheppard asked.

Rodney snorted. "Yeah, plenty. I'm full of them."

"Full of something," Sheppard muttered, then added, "Any ideas on how we can get the Gate standing and operational again?"

McKay glanced up, giving Sheppard a baleful look. He raised his voice so that everyone the room could hear. "Anyone have a heavy duty crane stashed somewhere?" He winced at the sound of his voice, gently cleared his throat, and tried again in a softer tone since the room had quieted, "I'm going to need something capable of lifting some serious tonnage. Maybe someone has a block and tackle capable of handling 64,000 pounds? I don't know how that translates to your local system of weights and measurements – maybe '64,000 big-rocks'."

With a sigh, Sheppard stated, "McKay…" trying to shut him up.

But Rodney's aching head was down again, and he missed any visual cues that Sheppard was giving him – not that he responded to them on most occasions anyway. "Or maybe you have a team of elephants, all harnessed up and ready to hoist that thing back into position? We'd need at least a half dozen." There was no answer. "It's not going to happen," he concluded. "We're stuck. And some of us are just going to have to suffer more than others." He sighed, his voice lowering, "They have nothing here that can help us. Didn't you notice, it's like a Wild West town out there -- Rawhide-land."

And then, quietly, people responded, but not how Sheppard expected. Some of the Colo began moving toward them, slowly, cautiously, as if they were afraid of something, as if they were… guilty.

The remaining three Marines came to attention, watching the Colos' meandering course. Ames, still beside Albion, stood up and made a movement as if to stop his people – but there were too many, and in spite of themselves, too determined.

"It's our fault," Gilbert stated, an apparent leader of this group. "This is all our fault."

"Hold your tongue, Gilbert!" Ames demanded.

Clemmon glared at Ames. "Our shield was here to protect us. It always saved us in the past. This destruction is a result of our wrongdoing."

Ames tried to placate her. "This was unforeseeable. How could we have known this would happen?"

"Wow, a tornado hitting your town when your shield is down – on a planet that has A LOT of tornadoes," McKay grumbled, gritting his teeth. "What a surprise."

Ames stepped closer to Rodney and was countered by Ronon. "Even with the shield, tornadoes rarely came in this direction," he insisted.

"Rarely," Sheppard repeated.

Gilbert spoke again. "It is a sign, Ames, a true sign. How else do you explain this happening so soon after we lost our shield? We are being punished for giving it up."

Sheppard sighed, not wanting to see the Colo tear themselves apart. The last thing they needed was a rumble in this small building, all because of the sneaky Genii making off with their ZPM. "Look," he tried. "It's not your fault. Those folks can be pretty tenacious. I know we've had our run-ins with them and they don't let go when they have their eyes on something."

"It is our punishment," Clemmon insisted, her voice growing sharper as she glared at Ames. "For listening to you, Ames. You brought this to on us."

"I did what was best for us," Ames defended. "Best for all of us." He made an open armed gesture to the room. Everyone's attention was on him. "I did this to project us!"

"Protect?" Gilbert grumbled. "Do you see what's happened around you?"

"There was agreement," Ames reminded. "The council agreed to it."

Teyla looked sympathetic. "The Genii promised to protect you if they took your ZPM?" she asked.

"The Genii?" Clemmon asked, surprised.

"They took your ZPM," Teyla coached.

Clemmon snorted. "Not the Genii. They wouldn't do such a thing. They are good people"

"Oh," McKay commented. "We could tell you a thing or two…"

Ronon and the others made sounds of agreement.

"Quiet, Gilbert, Clemmon," Ames hissed. "You don't know what you're doing!"

"I would gladly deal with Genii. They are at least… human," Clemmon spat out. "You made the deal, Ames, and presented it to us as if we had little choice. You should've known it would come out exactly like this. We suffer now because of your deal. We must make amends."

"It was wrong in every way," Gilbert continued, "making a deal with… them."

"It was for the good of everyone!" Ames reached for Gilbert, but Ronon was there, shoving the man back. The Marines closed in.

"So…" Sheppard drew out. "What is this 'deal' all about?"

"Don't!" Ames ordered, straining against Ronon's grasp.

Clemmon crossed her arms over her chest. "What difference will it make if they know, Ames? They can't leave, can they? They're stuck here."

"What's going on?" Sheppard growled, looking from one Colo to the next.

"Don't say a word," Ames muttered. "I did it for all of us. To save us."

But Clemmon looked unmoved and she faced the strangers, saying defiantly, "He made a deal with the Wraith."

Ronon made a sound, a rumble in his throat. Teyla stared at them, wide-eyed in disbelief. Rodney raised his head, and gave them a withering glance, then let his head fall back to his hands. Beckett could only tsk.

"A deal?" Sheppard echoed. "With the Wraith? Do you know ANYONE who gets a good deal out of those guys?" And he tried not to think of how hypocritical he sounded.

"You agreed to it!" Ames shouted pointing a finger at Gilbert and some of the other Colo. Ronon growled, and Ames made a little cry as the Satedan pushed him.

"We'd been attacked," Gilbert explained. "Some of our people were outside the shield. They captured Ames … and Albion and two others."

"Quiet, Gilbert!" Ames growled.

"There were two Wraith. They fed off our people," Gilbert stated, and then paused, and the whole room fell silent with him – the only sound was Ames' heavy breathing.

"We were dead!" Ames cried. "We were so close to death I could taste it on my lips. But we were saved. Albion and me! Nothing could be done for the others. It was too late. It was… unfortunate."

John drew back a step or two, his eyes fixed on Ames, who looked about wildly. Their eyes met. The colonel searched those eyes, looking for something familiar.

Gilbert continued the tale, his voice low and solemn, "Ames and Albion returned, vital and alive. Alleman and Zearing did not."

Sheppard kept his gaze on Ames, watching him, and wondered if he was anything like this man.

"They didn't want us for our lifeforce," Ames insisted, clawing at his chest. "They wanted a pact with us! They proved it by returning our lives to us. The others… I don't know. It just was too late."

"No one returns from the Wraith," Clemmon stated. "We were overjoyed that they came back to us."

Teyla glanced to John, who hadn't taken his gaze from Ames. Softly, she said, "We can imagine it."

"Ames made a bargain," Gilbert went on. "The Wraith would leave our town alone, never bother us again. We would be allowed to live in peace, to prosper."

With a sigh, Sheppard asked, "What did they want? What did you give them for 'life'."

Gilbert bowed his head and continued, "Two things."

Still hunched miserably, Rodney muttered, "The ZPM. You gave it to them."

Clemmon nodded. "Yes. They wanted it as a show of trust," she said, glaring at Ames. "And he gave it away. Left us open to the tornadoes."

Ames looked incredulous. "They needed proof! Proof that we trusted them!"

"It was a wonderful promise," Clemmon said, but her voice had a hollow ring to it as she looked about the room. "How could we have trusted them?"

"We didn't think about the tornadoes," Ames insisted. "It was an accident. It was bad luck. The deal is still good."

"It was justice," Clemmons whispered.

"They promised us life!" Ames insisted.

"They'll come back and cull everyone," Ronon said, disgusted with them.

"No! They made a deal…" Ames insisted.

Sheppard shook his head. "The Wraith… they never keep their promises. God, not once."

"And now you are without your shield," Teyla said sadly.

Clemmon nodded. "We gave them the means to destroy us." She turned her piercing glare on Ames. "You've destroyed us all."

"I saved us!" Ames declared.

"You're all as good as dead," Ronon responded.

The Colo shifted uncomfortably, their voices rumbling like thunder in the room.

"What else?" Sheppard asked. "You said there were two things."

Gilbert looked from Sheppard, and then to the other strangers. After drawing in a slow breath, he responded quietly, "You… they wanted you."

Sheppard frowned at Gilbert's words and the room fell silent for only a moment.

Simultaneously, Ronon let out a growl as Rodney cried an infuriated, "What?" An act that he instantly regretted.

"The Wraith want you," Gilbert went on, focusing at Sheppard, recognizing a man in command. "They didn't know where you were since the home of the Ancestors was destroyed." He bowed his head momentarily at mention of that incident, and all the Colo bowed with him. "They needed a means of finding you."

Clemmon added, "A means of calling you out of the shadows."

"And a shield system with a missing ZPM was just the ticket to bring us here," Rodney surmised. "We couldn't resist seeing that, could we?"

"Fantastic," Sheppard grumbled, liking this place less and less with every moment.

"Why did the Wraith take the ZPM?" Teyla asked. "Certainly we would have come if we knew that you had a ZPM."

"That'd bring McKay real fast," Sheppard decided, watching Ronon. The Satedan's demeanor had changed – no longer was he just spoiling for a fight with Ames – he was moving toward the door, his hand twitching near his blaster. He looked like a kenneled dog that knew a trespasser was in the yard.

Rodney sighed resignedly. "Why would the Wraith risk letting a ZPM fall into our hands?" he asked. "Why would they leave these people with an active shield?"

With a nod, Sheppard had to admit, "You got a point." He kept his eyes on Ronon, watching the man pace.

"Of course I do," Rodney went on. He smiled a little, but it didn't hide the fact that he looked pale, shaky. "Don't I always?"

"Not particularly," Beckett said with a sigh, sitting beside his friend and gently grasping his wrist to take his pulse. Obviously Carson had noticed Rodney's state, too. "Not always." He tugged at the quilt that had fallen, bringing it up to Rodney's shoulders.

"True," Sheppard said, nodding toward the CMO. "Not always."

Rodney gave Carson a disgusted look, but didn't pull his arm away and didn't shake off the blanket. With a sigh, he said, "They left these people with a problem that'd force us to stay a while. I mean, if they had the ZPM, we could have just done a 'grab and go'. I wouldn't have hung around if I didn't have to." And he winced again, looking miserable as he hunched on the wooden bench.

Carson released his wrist, but remained where he was sitting. "Sounds right," he said.

"Of course it's right!" McKay snapped in return.

Glancing up to the others, Beckett stated, "The Wraith left these people defenseless with none to call but ourselves. Those bloody creatures knew exactly what they were doin'."

"They knew we'd come," Sheppard concluded, scowling. "They just lucked out that the Gate fell over, trapping us." He paused a moment, realizing, "Which would also explain why they haven't shown up yet. We can't get out and they can't come in to get us."

Sheppard glanced toward Ronon again, watching him and the anger that seemed to bubble forth. "So," the colonel started, "how do the Wraith know we're here?"

Rodney lowered his head for only a second, and before it shot up again. "Oh!" he exclaimed, his expression worried. He half stood, but his whole face contorted in pain and he crumpled in his seat.

"Easy now," Beckett exclaimed, helping him settle in his place. McKay pressed his lips tightly together, but when Carson reached for the bucket again, Rodney gave his head a tiny shake.

But Sheppard knew McKay too well. "What?" Sheppard interrupted. "McKay," Sheppard continued. "What are you thinking?"

"Transmitter!" Rodney got out, cradling his head.

"What transmitter?" Sheppard questioned.

"I didn't know what it was when I saw… when I …" All eyes were on him as he kept his head down. "When I woke up, under that building, I saw it. Wraith technology... I don't believe it was active at the time, but..."

Teyla turned, coming to a realization. "Ames activated it after the tornado," she declared, narrowing her eyes. "He left the building just before I found you by the wreckage."

Ronon stiffened, turning on Ames, growling, then, in a flash, he darted to the door. Sheppard watched him go, the phrase 'release the hounds' playing through his head.

Looking up, McKay caught only the slam of the door. Around them, the anxious Colo people were up and moving about, looking cowed and beaten. Sheppard took a strong disliking toward them.

"Colonel!" Rodney cried. "Don't let Conan destroy that device! It's obviously more than just a transmitter! I mean, it's big. I need to know what it's capable of doing. We might need something from it. He can't just blow it up!"

"Gotcha," Sheppard responded as he spun about and took after Ronon. With any luck, he could catch up to the man before he blasted the transmitter to smithereens. He dashed through the door and into the street, catching sight of Ronon as he reached the wreckage of the Governor's Palace. "Ronon! Stop! Hold up! Wait!"

Dex kept moving, clambering over the smashed bits of the building.

"Ronon! Stop!" John shouted uselessly. Finally, with a frown, he pulled out the big guns, barking out, "Dex! Stop! That's an order!"

With a snarl, Ronon came to a halt, turning to face his commander. "If that device is active…"

"Then they've already got the message," Sheppard told him as he hurried to catch up. 

"Maybe the signal hasn't reached them," Ronon responded. "Gate isn't working."

"Yeah," Sheppard agreed, working his way past Ronon, "McKay wants it turned off nicely though. He might be able to use the technology to our advantage. Got it?"

Ronon didn't respond immediately. John looked over his shoulder, seeing a disappointed, yet understanding expression. There'd be no blowing up of Wraith Tech today.

"So," John started, "You going to show me where you found him?"

With a curt nod, Dex started moving again, quickly finding his way back into the bowels of the building.

 

PART 6: BLIP  
Beckett moved around nervously, checking one patient and then the next, until he was at Albion again. Her color still wasn't good. She was bleeding internally. He knew it. He'd done what he could to relieve her pain, but she'd need surgery if she were to survive.

She was awake again, barely, and gazing up at him with liquid eyes. Ames held her hand, petting it gently. Time was wasting.

And the Gate was gone, fallen over, unusable.

From one bench down, McKay called, "Colonel, are you there?" He adjusted the radio with one hand as he fiddled with his data tablet in the other. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you." The response came over the radio.

"Oh, good… good," Rodney looked up and met Beckett's gaze with a satisfied smile. "You there yet?"

"Just about. Hang on." There was the sound of scrambling and shuffling. "God, this is an obnoxious place. What the hell were you doing down here?"

"Like I had a choice!" McKay bit back, his voice rising.

"Rodney," Teyla stated, moving toward the door and neatly avoiding the meandering Colo. "I should go with them. I might be able to manipulate the device, mentally, and…"

Waving a hand to silence her, McKay stated, "Won't be necessary. We're shutting it down. I mean, not in the Ronon way of shutting it down, but it's getting shut off."

"Perhaps it would be of more help to transmit a different message?" Teyla tried.

"Yes!" Beckett interjected, feeling a sudden surge of optimism. "We could do that. Tell them something like 'So sorry. Mistake. We didn't mean to set off the signal' or maybe 'They were here and they've left. No need to stop by'." Carson nodded enthusiastically. "We send them somewhere else!"

Rodney looked at him as he'd had grown an extra head. "No," he replied bluntly.

"Well, it'd be better than doin' nothing," Beckett tried.

With a groan, Rodney told them, "It's not even sending out a 'message' per se." He poked at his data tablet a few times, and held up the device so that Carson could see the screen.

Beckett looked at it a moment, but with a frustrated sigh, told the Canadian, "I don't know what I'm supposed to be lookin' at."

"Look! Here!" Rodney responded, pointing to a graph – little more than a line with a series of spikes at the same interval. "It's rather like the device that was imbedded in Teyla's necklace. It's just a repeating 'blip' and nothing more. It's a dinner gong."

Beckett regarded the little graph and then said the only thing that came to his mind, a crestfallen little, "Oh." He'd expected more.

Teyla touched her neck as she said, "This transmitter is large? When I…" and she paused, as if shamed, "When I carried one of their transmitters, it was no larger than a pendant."

"Different technology. This device is probably capable of doing a lot more than just going 'beep'. I'm sorry, but I didn't have time to study it when I saw it, being crushed and all."

Teyla nodded. "And by shutting it off, what will we accomplish? It has been on for some time and they have, most likely, already received the message."

With a groan, Rodney returned to resting his head in one hand. "I know," he told her. "They're probably already coming." And he glanced upward as if expecting the whine of a Wraith dart in the sky. "But we're probably better off with the thing NOT active when they get here. No telling how they planned to use it."

"They can't come by Gate," Beckett tried hopefully. "That was probably their plan. What with it falling over, that option's been shut down. So, that's a good thing, right?"

McKay frowned. "No, not at all. It means we'll be facing down a Hive ship instead of just a few random darts. So… the good news is, we have the time to put our affairs in order."

"Okay, we're here," Sheppard's voice called over the radio. "Nice spider hole, McKay." The words were meant to be lighthearted, but Beckett heard the disquiet that went with the comment.

"What do we do now?" Sheppard asked.

"You should be able to reach under the main section of the console. You're going to remove the power source." He started describing the steps as clearly as possible, eyes still shut, pantomiming the actions as he went. Beckett watched the movements, fascinated by the graceful movements, as McKay kept talking, working out the steps physically as he described them, remembering what he'd learned from the Wraith's database.

Beckett stood beside Teyla, as Rodney quickly, brusquely, worriedly, intricately described the steps. The process ended with a quick, "Got it," from Sheppard and a relieved sigh from McKay as he glanced at his data tablet again.

"Good," McKay said. "No longer transmitting! Great. Okay. That did us a lot of good." And he sighed, sounding defeated, as he leaned back in the pew for a second, only to sit forward immediately with a hiss as his tattered back came in contact with the wood. Beckett gave him an understanding pat on the leg and wished he'd brought more supplies with him. Pain relievers were at a premium. Beckett had given McKay only Tylenol, not wanting to give him too heavy a medication, considering the concussion.

"Now," McKay stated over the radio. "Do you think you can get that console here? I'd like to … you know… check it out. See what they were planning to use it for."

There was a shuffle, a quick argument. They heard, "Let me…" and "Fine!" and then Sheppard stated, "Ronon's got it. We're coming back."

"Great," McKay replied.

"Now what?" Beckett asked hopefully as he made his way back to Albion.

Rubbing his head again, McKay admitted, "I don't know."

"But we have to think of something," Beckett reacted. "We're sitting ducks here, and Albion isn't going to last long unless she's seen to properly." And others, too, he thought as he gazed at the pale physicist, might be in the same jeopardy.

Annoyed, McKay grumbled, "If she needs 'seeing to', then see to her. I mean, you are the doctor, aren't you?"

Beckett closed his eyes a moment to suppress a shout. "I don't have the proper equipment," he responded sharply. "She needs surgery and this is hardly a sterile environment. I'd rather this be done back in the infirmary or in a proper hospital setting. I wouldn't want to risk it here unless there was no other way."

"Well, looks like we're running out of choices," McKay muttered. "We're not going anywhere. Besides, you, if anyone, can do it. So what's the problem?"

Beckett felt the touch of Teyla's hand on his arm, and she smiled at him. "I have faith in you, Carson," she told him.

With everything going so badly around them, Beckett didn't have the same confidence as Teyla. He glanced to Ames who was holding Albion's hand and talking quietly. She answered in one-word sentences, her face tight. It was only a matter of time…

"Right," Beckett breathed out, looking about the room, the Marines and the Colo, figuring out what he had to work with. "Let's get started then."  
8888888888888888888888888888888  
Sheppard was nearly run down by Fernald as he opened the door to the meeting hall. 

"Sorry," Fernald squeaked, as he moved through the doorway to the outside.

Ronon rumbled indecipherably as the kid moved past, and Sheppard pressed the door open wide for the Satedan to haul in the console.

The room was filled with movement, a beehive of activity. Two Colo were carrying a table onto the raised 'stage' portion of the room. Two more were stoking the wood stove. Sergeant Woodward and Lieutenant Radcliff were standing on chairs, preparing to hook a big white sheet on the ceiling above the platform.

In another corner, Beckett held council, speaking seriously to Teyla and Private Huxley, who nodded to each of his intense messages, but neither spoke a word. Ames, Gilbert and Clemmon were with Albion, trying to keep her comfortable. The other Colo were busily moving things about.

"What's up?" Sheppard asked as he reached the hunched shape on the bench at the rear of the room. Ronon dropped the Wraith console beside him. Rodney raised his head to look at it.

"Carson's going to operate on her," McKay responded, moving to the device with an interested expression. "Recruited Teyla and Huxley to assist him."

"Huxley is a good medic," Sheppard stated, but as he gazed back to the little knot of people, he didn't miss the anxious expression on the young medic's face. Surgery, in this place, wouldn't be easy for anyone.

Beckett reached out from time to time to grasp hold of the young man's arm. The doctor seemed to radiate confidence and the young man would nod to his words.

Teyla looked a little surer of herself than the Private, and she glanced around Beckett to catch Sheppard's attention, giving him a tight smile.

"Thought he didn't have the tools he needed," Ronon stated, sitting down heavily beside the scientist.

With a sigh, Rodney continued his inspection. "He doesn't," he proclaimed, and made a move to rub the back of his neck, but stopped as he came in contact with the bandages at his shoulders. With a moan, he closed his eyes and continued, "He's going to make do with what he has here in Bonanaza-land. He'll probably end up using Buck knives and willow-bark tea."

Sheppard watched Beckett as the doc spoke to his assistants. With his med-kit, Carson had a lot more than just knives and tea, but much less than the infirmary in Atlantis – or any well stocked Doc-in-a-Box for that matter.

Albion was growing worse by the minute and they were only delaying the inevitable. If she was bleeding inside, as Beckett had pronounced, her time was running short. That woman did not look good.

Rodney moved about the console – little more than a breadbox sized device on a thick pedestal. Sheppard returned his attention to the scientist, realizing that McKay still looked like hell – bruised and cut up and pale. There was no doubting that the man should be in bed, recovering and being fretted over. He should be in the infirmary, annoying the nurses, demanding pudding cups, demeaning Beckett, ordering his minions about via radio, and trying to get some rest. But there was no time for that, was there?

"Hmmm," McKay uttered as he worked. "Ah! Okay…"

"So…" Sheppard led, "What is it for? I mean, besides the transmitter thing."

Rodney quirked his mouth and continued to scrutinize the thing, pulling off a panel to expose the insides of the column. His hand strayed over a tank at the bottom of the thing. "Well…" he muttered.

"What is that?" Sheppard asked, squatting down beside the scientist – yes, definitely a tank – the type used to contain gas. The thought made the colonel's blood run cold. "What's in there?" he asked quietly.

With a tiny shake of his head, Rodney responded, "Honestly, I don't want to know. I'm betting it's bad though. I can tell you this device was set up as a delivery system, cued to go off by remote control."

Shit, Sheppard thought, staring at the console. No wonder the transmitter was bigger than Teyla's necklace. Those sons-of-bitches. A realization struck him. "And you had us carry that here?"

"I had to see, and didn't exactly feel up to crawling back into that place," McKay whined. He kept examining the thing. "It's probably some sort of paralytic agent. It won't go off without the correct remote command, and it won't receive that without being powered up. And I kinda believe that if this thing went off, it'd affect people for miles. Doubt you could move it outside the 'danger zone', especially with the winds the way they are, changing every minute."

"Great," Sheppard grumbled. "Kind of like the delivery system for the Wraith retrovirus, don't you think?" He frowned. "Does that mean the rest of the Wraith know about what he had planned for them? I thought the knowledge only went as far as those hives."

"Hard to say," McKay responded. "Probably not. A coincidence, and a sucky one at that. But let's just say I'm damn glad that you pulled out that power source." He sat back on his heels, sighing deeply and closing his eyes.

Yeah, Rodney looked pretty awful, Sheppard decided. "How you feeling?" he asked.

"Like a building was dropped on top of me!" McKay grumbled. "Like a thousand pounds of slipshod manufacturing came crashing down on my back – trapping me. It's a wonder I wasn't smashed to paste in that hole!" He struggled to stand.

Sheppard gave Rodney a hand, helping him get to his feet and back to the bench. McKay grunted, his version of a thank you,

Fernald came crashing back into the meeting hall, loud enough to still any further conversation. The kid toted two large pots of water, sloshing them as he capered across the floor toward the now lit stove. It was a miracle that Fernald didn't put out the fire as he boosted one pot into place. The other was left beside the stove, for it to wait until the first pot had boiled.

The pan in place, Fernald importantly picked up a long wooden spoon and began vigorously stirring the tepid water. Great, thought Sheppard. They're boiling water. How primitive can we be?

On the stage, Woodward and Radcliff had succeeded in hanging the first two clean sheets, beginning a sort of 'room' for the surgery. They made an interesting pair – Radcliff, tall and thin, with her long dark hair and almost white skin, looked too fragile to be a Marine. Her porcelain complexion hid a fearless soldier.

Woodward, an African American, broad shouldered and bald-headed, wobbled a little on the chair, waiting as Radcliff stepped down to retrieve another sheet. He tried to hide his vertigo.

Beckett had finished with Teyla and Huxley, giving the Private a firm clap on the shoulder. "You'll do fine, Max," he assured. Beckett stood, grabbing his Med Kit and heading to the 'surgery' to get his equipment in order. Teyla followed, leaving Huxley to sit anxiously and wait.

Sighing, Sheppard said, "It's going to be crude, is it?" He glanced to Albion again, with her little circle of friends.

"Yeah," McKay said with a swallow. "Can't be good. She can't wait two weeks though."

"Yeah, about that," Sheppard tried. "The Wraith…how long do we have before they get here?"

Putting on a perturbed expression, McKay whined, "How the hell should I know? Why does everyone insist that I know everything?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Because it's what you tell everyone."

"Yeah," Ronon added. "All the time."

"I do not!" McKay shot back.

"Well," Sheppard responded, "It'd be helpful to know when to expect them."

"I can't know that," McKay returned.

Ronon shrugged. "Guess you aren't as smart as you've been saying."

"Yeah," Sheppard went on. "He doesn't know everything."

Put upon, Rodney huffed, "You should be happy I know anything at all at this moment. Do you know how close I came to having my head smashed open like a melon? I mean, it could have been a whole lot worse. I might have been…" A quick pause, and his irritated expression changed as a thought obviously came to him. "Do you got it?"

The about-face always startled the colonel. "Got what?"

"Milk! What do you think?"

"What? McKay, you're starting to…"

"The damn power source!"

"Oh, yeah, hang on." Sheppard reached into the large pocket of his vest. "No need to get all snappy," he remarked, giving McKay a glare as he drew out the lump he'd removed from the device. "You're not going to put it back in this thing are you?" Sheppard said, holding the power source back. "You know, nerve toxin or whatever is in there."

"Of course not," Rodney responded. "How addled do you think I am?"

Sheppard held out the power source, and it seemed to take McKay a moment to see it. Sheppard kept his hand steady, willing McKay to focus on it.

Reaching out, Rodney gingerly took the strange glob. Hideously, it resembled a human heart in shape and size. "Hmmm," McKay commented as he hefted it. "I would have expected it to be a bit lighter, and not quite so… gooey." And he withdrew one hand from the squishy-thing with distaste. "Why do they insist on making everything so … 'fleshy'?"

"It's what they like," Sheppard commented. "If you were in charge, you'd make everything look like a cheese puff or a pudding cup." 

Rodney snorted as he examined the thing with an intense expression. "Amazing thing is that this little blob of love is actually a pretty hefty power source."

"So," Sheppard prodded. "You got an answer for me?"

"What? Cheese puff?"

"McKay…" Sheppard paused, wondering if the man had suffered some brain damage. "The Wraith. I need to know how long we have until they get here."

Barely keeping a cap on his fume, McKay let the power glob rest at his side. "Look, the Wraith were probably planning on making a quick strike once the transmitter went off, like on Athos, but they were also planning on using the Gate. Soon as Ames fired up the transmitter, they jumped in their jalopies and attempted to cruise right through their Gate to us. That didn't work, due to a certain problem with this Gate taking a face-plant. I'm betting they've fallen back on plan B."

"Which would be?" Sheppard tried.

"I don't know…" McKay groused. "Maybe come via… space!" He spat out the last word.

Ronon sat casually in the pew, staying near McKay. Despite his posture, there was an electric attentiveness to him. "So how long we got?"

Frustrated, McKay hissed, "Were you not listening? I don't know!"

"But conjecturing," Sheppard continued, "If they were coming by 'space' and coming at full speed from whatever outpost might be handy… how long would that take?"

"Are you even listening to me?" McKay's voice took on a desperate whine.

"You can give me an estimate can't you?" Sheppard kept at his prodding. "Because it'd do us a hell of a lot more good than just sitting around waiting for the big surprise."

Looking spent, McKay rested his head on one hand, and closed his eyes. Finally, with a wince, he opened them again and stated, "We saw some Wraith activity on long range sensors, a Hive heading out in this area."

"A Wraith ship was heading here before we even…" Sheppard started.

McKay raised a hand to quiet him. "It wasn't headed toward this planet, but it was in the general part of the galaxy. Nothing to worry about unless someone decided to set up a signal flare after the Gate was knocked out of order." He gestured his annoyance. "Now, if it picked up the transmitter, considering its last known trajectory, the hive could be here in about a… a day."

"Twenty-four hours?" John asked him and then he grinned cunningly. "Something specific would be nice."

Red-faced, McKay glared at the colonel. "The days are shorter on this planet. Do you know that? The night probably doesn't even last five hours this time of year."

"So what are we talking…twenty hours?" Sheppard tried.

"Twenty-two!" McKay returned. "How does twenty-two hours sound?"

"Better than twenty," Ronon decided.

"Okay," Sheppard went on. "Assuming we have twenty-two hours…"

"That's not a hard number," McKay put in frantically.

"Good enough," Sheppard stated, and looked to Ronon for confirmation. The Satedan nodded in agreement.

"I mean it! Not a good number," McKay went on, looking desperate and maybe a bit paler than before. "I made it up."

"Fine, so we plan for twenty-two hours. I just hope you didn't overestimate."

"Wait a minute," McKay sputtered. He seemed to be shaking. "You can't put this on me!"

"Fine…fine… whatever," Sheppard said, dropping to the seat beside McKay. He gave the scientist a prod, keeping him from falling forward in his seat, but careful of his bandaged back. In a quieter voice, Sheppard said, "So, what do we do now? The Wraith will start dropping from the ceiling in about a day. We have no shield, the Daedalus is two weeks out, and the Gate is out of commission."

McKay nodded thoughtfully. "Right. Easy as pie. We just need to either hold off the Wraith for two weeks, or get the Gate upright and working again."

"Yeah, that's about right," Sheppard said.

"Getting the Gate fixed sounds good," Ronon tried.

"Thanks for that information," McKay grumbled. "Yeah, wouldn't that be nice. Let me think."

The two men sat on either side of the scientist, as he said nothing. Rodney wobbled a little as he tried to stay upright, his eyes closing in thought. Ronon carefully countered his attempts to slip to the right as Sheppard kept him from falling to the left.

Finally, Rodney's eyes opened, his expression sharp. With only a slight fumble, he picked up the power source from the Wraith device and stared at it as if trying to see right through it.

Sheppard understood that look. "What? You have an idea?"

Rodney's eyes kept moving, as if he were searching through files, speed-reading through countless reports. "The shield device…" he said after a moment.

"No ZPM," Ronon countered.

McKay held up the weird heart-shaped thing.

"Does it got enough power?" the Satedan asked.

McKay frowned, lowering the device. "Not by a long shot. It doesn't have the power of the ZPM and will never protect the entire town." He sighed.

"And this is a good idea?" Ronon asked.

"A horrible one. I might be able to eke some sort of a shield out, but it'll be strained to cover the distance. What good will that do? The power is little more than a blip when compared to the ZPM." With a sigh, McKay said, "Sure, the town is crap anyway, so it's no big loss if the Wraith take it, but we're in the way."

With a glance around him, Sheppard said, "We don't need to cover the whole town. We're all in one room. Can you make it big enough to…"

McKay raised his hand, rapidly snapping his fingers. "Yeah, yes! More like an umbrella than a full-on shield."

"How long would something like that last?" Sheppard asked.

"I have no idea," McKay answered him, smiling broadly.

Sheppard paused, wondering if it was worthwhile to press him for a timetable, but the man looked ready for a break.

Sheppard stood and nodded. "Come on, Ronon," he stated. "We're going to set up an umbrella."

 

PART 7: OOMPH  
The clouds over Colo rolled, promising that the weather would remain unsettled. The drenching rain and fierce winds had abated – for the time being. If nothing else, the lull allowed them time to complete their task without getting soaked.

The shield device was quickly located in the destroyed Governor's Palace, sheered from its base by the force of the tornado. Remarkably, it appeared otherwise undamaged, but it was considerably heavier than the Wraith device from the basement. With a bit of strain and effort, they lifted it upright again, and then Sheppard, Ronon and Woodward dragged it as Radcliff cleared the way through the debris to get it into the main road.

They were just preparing for their next push, hauling it down the street and to the Meeting Hall, and then up the steps, when Gilbert and Clemmon appeared with a dray that proved perfect for their use. With only one axle, the flat wagon was easily tipped back. Between the six of them, they shoved the shield device to the back of the wagon's platform and then levered the vehicle forward and back into position.

It creaked, it groaned, but the wagon held as they drove it the short distance to the Meeting Hall and delivered the shield device directly to the front porch.

By the time the contraption was waggled into the room, Albion had been moved to Beckett's surgical theatre and his little med team was prepped and ready, and going through some final instructions behind the pulled sheets.

"Ah, you found it," McKay said unnecessarily as he shuffled across the room, placing a hand on top of the device. He smiled as if he'd found an old friend.

"It was pretty much where you left it," Sheppard told him as he rolled his shoulders, feeling his scrapes and bruises from the earlier assault with the tornado. "Everything around it had moved, though. It's a heavy son of a bitch."

"Well, it should be," McKay pronounced as he squatted beside it, steadying himself. "It was designed to protect this whole area, all the way to the Gate and beyond. That has to carry some weight."

With Rodney sitting below him, Sheppard could easily see the red spotting into the bandages across his shoulders and back. He moved stiffly, like an old man, constantly needing to grasp something to keep upright. The dressing around his head had slipped a little, leaving it at a jaunty angle as he worked.

The colonel glanced to Ronon, who could only shrug in response. It wasn't as if they had a choice in the matter. McKay was still mobile and he was the only one who had a chance of making the shield work again. The person who could take care of Rodney was now occupied with another more pressing matter, and they were nearly out of bandages again. What little remained had been set aside for Albion.

"Rodney," Sheppard said quietly. "Now that we've moved it here, why don't you take a break? You can get started after Beckett's had a chance to check your back again. I think you're coming apart at the seams a bit."

"What?" McKay asked, hand reaching toward his back, but restrained his movement almost immediately. "Ow… Where?"

Sheppard pointed to Rodney's back, but realized that McKay couldn't see the worst of the issues in any case. Sheppard stilled the gesture. "Just take a seat for a bit, okay, Rodney," he tried.

"I would if there was time." He looked up, seeing the Woodward and Radcliff standing about. "Can't you make yourselves useful?" He snapped his fingers irritably at them. "I need my pack."

With a glance, Sheppard directed Sgt. Woodward to fetch the bag, while, from inside the surgical tent, Carson spoke, saying they were putting Albion under.

McKay was already tinkering within the shield system when Woodward returned with the pack. The sergeant said nothing, waiting. In the tent, Beckett spoke to Teyla, reiterating how to monitor Albion's breathing and life signs.

Rodney, too involved in what he was doing, didn't realize Woodward was holding out the requested pack. It took a moment, but McKay finally made an annoyed sound and snatched the bag from the sergeant.

Randall Woodward dutifully stepped back, and glanced to his CO, trying not to look offended.

Sheppard saw the hesitation, and gave his people their orders, "Woodward, hang close in case McKay needs something. Radcliff, stay near Beckett's surgery. Be available if he has any requests."

Radcliff quickly complied, and Sheppard returned his attention to Rodney. "So, can you get it working?"

Fretting about with the device, McKay stated, "If I can just mate up Wraith technology with Ancient, we'll be in business."

"If?" Sheppard interrupted.

"Thought you said you could do this?" Ronon added.

"Even if I do manage it --and I will -- the power just isn't going to last," McKay groused. "Definitely not two weeks. But I suspect you and some of the others will be running around outside the shield, trying to protect the rest of us." He said these words tightly, as if he didn't want to consider it too deeply. "How long can you hold off the Wraith with just P90's?"

"I brought a grenade launcher," Randall said helpfully.

"Good for you," McKay snarked. "One grenade launcher -- and a hive ship is coming. What if they aren't impressed by our ability to create a shield after they took away its power? What if they decide to hang around to see if they can break it down? What if they decide they don't like being shot at with peashooters? What if they figure out where their tank-o-gas is located and start targeting it?"

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "Will they?" he asked. "I thought you said that it was harmless now that the power source…"

McKay waved a hand, dismissing him. "Yes, yes," he stated. "Probably." He sighed, glancing toward it. "As much as I hate to say it, the safest place to keep it would probably be with us – under the shield. If we were to stash it somewhere else in the town, some stray shot might hit it and – FSST! We're all goners, or at least nicely paralyzed for the Wraith to find us."

"The shield isn't airtight?" Sheppard asked.

"I believe air does circulate through. And if it did seal completely, it would eventually suffocate everyone," McKay muttered.

Eyeing the Wraith console unhappily, Sheppard sighed. "Good to know."

"And if the shield fails, we're all dead anyway, so…"

"McKay…" Sheppard warned.

"Fine!" McKay snapped. "Even if I get this shield operational and that bomb doesn't go off -- we have two weeks before the Daedalus gets here."

Ronon shifted a little, and stated, "If we could use the Gate, there wouldn't be a problem."

"I KNOW!" Rodney snarled. "Problem! We have a big problem, and we've gone over this before! Elephants! Do you remember me mentioning elephants?"

"What else can we use?" Sheppard asked.

"64,000 pounds! To get it up again is going to take Herculean power. Then we'd have to balance it just right on the dais and that'll take a hell of a lot of engineering. I don't know how I'll manage it with the supplies we have on hand."

Sheppard thought a moment and asked, "Does it have to be on the base?"

"Not on the base? How else will it remain upright? What do you expect me to brace it with?"

Sheppard leaned forward. "The big problem was that it's on its face, right? What if we…"

"Hang on… hang on…" McKay set down his tools to free up his hands. "Yes, if we could just turn it over," he demonstrated with his hands. "Flipping it would be a lot easier than trying to set it upright. Not a whole lot of finesse required, and once that's done we could wire it into the DHD and – Ta-da -- wormhole could form. Stepping through a Gate that's flat on the ground is a good way to break your arm, though." He paused to let out a bit of a chuckle.

His hands stayed where they were, still illustrating a flipped over Gate. "It could work… but how?" With a sigh, he let the hands drop, and felt around for the screwdriver. It had rolled away. "We're still stuck."

Helpfully, Randall had grabbed the rolling screwdriver and he proffered it to the scientist, who glared and snatched it from him. "Yes," Rodney continued. "Easier to flip it than to stand it, but it still would need a lot of oomph," McKay complained. "If we'd only brought a jumper with us, we'd be all set. But no… I distinctly recall someone saying 'McKay could use the exercise. We don't need a jumper'."

Sheppard listened as McKay rambled, and Ronon watched Sheppard. Randall tried to stay out of the way.

"Anyway, the long and short of all this is…" McKay went on. "This shield device is all we have at the moment and we could really use more power to keep it going." He tapped it with the screwdriver. "Especially if we're expecting a two week Siege."

"And where do you hope to get more power?"

"I have no idea," Rodney sighed, he set the screwdriver down again and returned to his pack. "If we could just get our hands on another power source or two, I'd feel a lot better. And this is all about making me feel better, isn't it?" The head dressing suddenly slipped a bit, and fell into Rodney's eyes to accent the comment. He grumbled and hooked a thumb under it, pulling it off his head and flinging it. The bandage didn't go far.

Annoyed, he pulled a scanner from his pack along with a handful of other devices, lining them up beside him for quick use. 

"We have to work with what we have," Sheppard reminded. He stared at the mix of Ancient devices, pondering them. Then asked, "How many of those do you have?"

"Huh?" McKay glanced up a moment; the ugly looking cut on his bruised head was evident now that the bandage was gone. "I only bring what I need," he defended.

"How much power do those things have?" Sheppard pressed.

Rodney grinned proudly as he snatched up one of the pieces. "The power contained in any one of these devices can keep it operational for…"

He paused, his eyes lighting up. "Yes… yes… power… the oomph we need." He tapped a finger to the side of the device. "I might be able to make something. I mean, maybe a last gasp backup battery after the Wraith power source fails – and it will."

"Every little bit helps," Sheppard stated. Then, after a moment he added, "The Ancients were never that tidy, were they?"

"I always thought they were quite clean," McKay told him. "They're almost obsessed with it. They want everything dust-free. And, my God, they have some sort of sick obsession with bathrooms. You can't go five paces down a hallway in Atlantis without running into one."

"But they leave a lot of stuff behind, don't they?" Sheppard led. "They created a shield here, they must have been here for a while, right?"

"And they probably brought more toys with them," McKay completed. "And maybe our friends here have found them over time." He frowned, adding, "Good luck in shaking any loose out of them. The natives tend to cling to their 'pretty things' when they get their hands on them. And there's something suspicious about this group."

Ronon, who had stood silently, nodded and broke away, striding into the middle of the room. He gave a quick glance at the Colo. The people sat around him with heads bowed, looking humbled and cowed. Since they'd learned about the tank in the Wraith device, they'd become even more withdrawn – as if they'd finally, totally, realized how thoroughly the Wraith had screwed them.

Ronon grimaced at them, disgusted.

He glanced once toward the surgery, then said in a loud voice that still seemed to shake the rafters. "Bring us all devices left by the Ancestors. Now. Or we will all die at the hands of the Wraith."

Nobody moved at first as the Colo looked at the giant man. The room was small enough, and Ronan's voice loud enough – the must have heard the conversation that led to the demand.

A quiet buzz of conversation followed. Slowly, some of them -- in ones and twos – stood, and they hurried to the door, skirting the Satedan in the middle of the room.

Ronon folded his arms over his chest and looked victorious as the little groups slipped from the building.

McKay gave Sheppard a lopsided grin, either marveling at the Dex touch, or wondering about what sort of things might be returned.

Once the door to the outside had shut, Beckett spoke from within the surgery. "Okay then," he stated. "She's under. We're going to start. I'm need you all to keep quiet as we're doing difficult work. No more shouting or messing about."

Rodney frowned, whispering harshly to Sheppard. "That was for Ronon, right? I wasn't shouting at all, was I?"

"That means you, too, Rodney," Beckett called from inside the makeshift room.

Rodney scowled and dipped his head, going back to working on the shield.

The room fell quiet. Radcliff stood sentry at the surgery, as if expecting that someone might storm it. The rest of the Colo sat, waiting.

The only things heard were the movements within the surgery – ticks and clinks of tools, strange wet sounds and other odd noises that went with cutting into a human body. Carson's steady and calming timbre instructed his assistants as he continued the work.

Although his voice remained calm, there was a strain heard by those who knew him best. Sheppard knew that Beckett must hate this, forced to operate under these condition, but his voice remained soothing. When a tool was dropped, Beckett calmly stated, "That's okay, Max. There's another." And the surgery continued.

McKay, working to connect the power source, made similar sounds, but his voice lacked the calm of Carson as he occasionally ordered Woodward into some sort of support.

In the peace of the moment, Sheppard stood. There was nothing he could do here. He surveyed the room, then moved toward the door and out onto the porch. Ronon, after a moment, followed.

The town was just as ruined as the last time they'd seen it, but here and there, the people of Colo were rooting through the wreckage, in search of their Ancient Heirlooms, and maybe a finding their chance at surviving.  
8888888888888888888888888888  
"How's it going?" Rodney asked as he poked his battered head from the building. "Did they find anything worthwhile yet?"

Sheppard leaned back in a chair he'd been able to recover. He nodded to the items stacked along the porch. One area was stocked with foodstuffs, more blankets, buckets and barrels – the supplies needed to see them through. Beside the larger mounds, the little pile of devices seemed miniscule. "We have a few things. They're still looking. With their homes all blown to bits they're having some trouble finding their favorite Ancestral backscratcher."

"Hmph," McKay responded, stepping from the Meeting Hall and toward the cache. He carefully crouched down to inspect what they'd found, swaying and reaching a hand to grasp the porch railing to keep from falling over.

Ronon, who'd been leaning against a roof support, moved closer.

Rodney, oblivious, rooted through the findings, occasionally making happy sounds of discovery as devices lit up for him, but mostly appearing annoyed and despondent with the findings. One device, flat, nearly featureless and as large as a hand annoyed him more than any. He set it aside.

Sheppard watched him work. He didn't spend much time on his haunches and quickly resorted to sitting down on the porch as he shuffled through the pile of trip-trap. The reddish spots on bandages had grown, and the wound on his head oozed.

Beckett wouldn't be happy.

Soon Rodney was resting his head on the railing along with his hand.

"How're you doing?" Sheppard asked casually.

"I have completed the installation," McKay said with a grin. "Did the impossible – again. Thank you very much."

Nodding at the response, Sheppard asked, "Did you test it?"

"Not yet," Rodney replied. "Not until Beckett is done. Figured it wasn't a good idea to fire up the thing while he's still, you know, stitching her up."

"So he's done? How's Albion?" Sheppard continued the questioning.

"Ha!" McKay exclaimed, grasping one of the devices with a look of rapture that fell slightly when he remembered why they were collecting these things. "Oh, success!" he stated. "He said that it was going well and she was probably going to be fine. Something about a ruptured spleen I think. Anyway, he was just finishing her up. Said Teyla and whats-his-face did a great job."

On cue, the door opened behind them, and Teyla quietly exited the Meeting Hall, her face a quiet mask. She smiled at Sheppard and then Ronon, her gaze finally falling on Rodney's back – the man was too occupied with checking through the latest pile of toys to pay her any mind.

"I hear things went well?" Sheppard queried.

She nodded and moved quietly down the porch to find an empty seat next to Sheppard. For a moment, the four of them were alone on the porch – Sheppard and Teyla side by side, McKay sitting on the porch with the Ancient devices, and Ronon watching over them.

Sheppard glanced to Teyla, watching her as she looked out over the town. The sun was going down, bathing the shattered street in golden light. She realized his scrutiny, and turned to him slowly, her face expressing that she was fine, but she needed this moment of peace, of 'not explaining'.

So, he followed her wishes and nothing was said. It was rather 'nice', all things considered.

Nobody spoke until McKay had finished his examination of the goods.

"Well, I might get something out of this," he muttered. "I might be able to sustain a shield with the power cells that are here. And that, mind you, would be a feat of incredible talent. I just can't promise you it'd last for any length of time. We better hope and pray that the Wraith power source lasts long enough to keep the Wraith at bay. I bet they'll love that!"

Sheppard knew that this wasn't enough. Hiding under a shield and hoping the Wraith gave up, wouldn't save them. It would buy them time, but not enough.

Their survival depended on getting off the planet. The Wraith had the patience of Job, and expecting them to get fed up and leave was a poor gamble.

This was going to be bad. They were sitting ducks. They needed something to fight the Wraith. They needed something to tip the scales in their favor.

He glanced up when Fernald moved out of the rubble and came toward them. The young man looked excited, cradling something in his arms as he hurried, something long and awkward. Ronon came to attention at the sight.

"Found it," Fernald announced, huffing as he reached the steps. "I knew it was there somewhere. It just took a while to find it. My cousin Ankeny kept this in his…"

He was cut off as Ronon met him, reached and latched onto the device and lifted it relentlessly from his grasp. Fernald scrambled backward, looking up in awe.

The Satedan hefted it, holding it to his shoulder, and sighting along its length. He smiled broadly, and then looked at the tall teen. "A gun," he declared happily. "What's it do?"

Fernald looked stunned. "I don't know. It's always been on his mantle."

"Mantle? Great place to store it." Rodney was beside Ronon and made a vague attempt to tug the device free from Dex. Ronon wouldn't give. McKay made a pathetic sound, moaning, "Come on, I need to see it to figure out what it does."

"It blows things up," Ronon surmised. He knew a gun when he saw it. And this was a big gun.

"Maybe not! Come on!" Rodney tried.

"Ronon," Sheppard said, his voice low. He found himself hating the tone – rather like a mother trying to get her children to behave – a little like the tone Weir sometimes used with them. "Let Rodney see it."

Ronon grumbled and thrust the big device at the scientist. McKay stumbled a bit, catching himself before he fell over. He scowled at the big Satedan.

Now that he had it in his grasp, he frowned as the display remained dim. After a moment or two of scrutiny, he found a piece dangling on a bit of chain. "What's this?" he asked.

Fernald shrugged.

Looking unhappy at the response, McKay examined the big gun as he held onto the smaller piece. He smiled suddenly, and taking the part between his first finger and thumb, he inserted it into the body of the bigger device.

The thing lit up, making a happy hum that brought an even happier sound from the physicist. Displays and panels illuminated, showing off power levels, elevation, range, distance, size, suspected speed. "A key," McKay voiced, "needs a key to work." 

"Why do you think they need that?" Sheppard asked. "Isn't the gene a key?"

McKay thought a moment. "Probably it's a power drain thing. I'm betting this uses a substantial amount of power and the key is just a means of priming it." He seemed pleased with his discover. And as he examined the displays, he uttered a quiet, "Hmmm." And then an "Oh!"

"What is it?" Sheppard questioned.

Rodney kept his attention on the device as he leaned against the building. He declared, "It has enough power to keep our shield going for days. A week maybe if we keep the circumference at a minimum. With this, we don't even need the Wraith device."

"What's it for?" Sheppard asked again.

Rodney turned it about, still checking it over, but paused as he considered. "I guess I'd call it an EMP Gun."

When the others looked at him blankly, he continued, "It can direct an extremely focused electromagnetic pulse at an object. See here," he tapped on the display. "It let's you pick out exactly what you're hunting for and locks onto it."

"It shuts down electronics?" Sheppard surmised, pulling the device from Rodney's hands. The scientist tried to resist, but he obviously didn't have it in him at the moment. "Now, that's what I call 'oomph'."

"From what I gather," Rodney stated, looking smug, "It's designed to totally shut down all electronic systems on any device whatsoever, and does it with surgical precision."

"So… it doesn't blow things up…" Sheppard said, throwing Ronon a glance, "But it will take out anything in the sky?"

"Barring dirigibles, gliders and kites, yes," McKay shot back.

"I like this thing," Sheppard responded, trying it out and focusing it on the remnants of the town, watching as the display searched for anything with an electronic signature.

Ronon's hand clamped down on the barrel, as he spoke with a rumble, "Probably makes sense to have the best shot take this one," he told Sheppard. And the two men glared at each other over the weapon.

McKay watched as Sheppard and Ronon battled over the device, and glanced to Teyla. "I take it, we're not using the power source for the shield."

She smiled at him, moving past the boys to stand beside him, planting a hand under his elbow to stop a subtle sway. "Yes," she responded. "It would seem that way."

PART 8: WUP  
"Okay, ah…" McKay hunched beside the shield device, making a few final adjustments before running his test. "It might be a good idea if you all… step back a bit." He fluttered a hand at the general crowd without looking at them. "Don't want to sheer off anyone's limbs if I can help it." And he glanced up, smiling as if he'd made a joke.

He was met with horrified expressions from the Colo, and disgusted looks from his group. One child started to cry. 

"Not that I would intentionally cut off someone's arm," he insisted.

The group edged away, giving the scientist a 'buffer' zone. Apparently satisfied with the space, Rodney touched the main panel of the device and, with a quiet hum, the shield activated. It unfurled, starting at the ground – first forming a little wall around the Canadian. It came up and domed over him and the device and made a little 'wup' sound as the hole sealed at the top.

Under the lamplight of the room, the shield glowed a pleasant mauve.

McKay grinned proudly until the shield guttered for a moment. Annoyed, he tapped a few commands into his data tablet. A thrum ran through the shield and it solidified.

"Ha!" McKay exclaimed. "Perfect." The smug look returned as he glanced to the others through the protection. "I told you it could be done."

Sheppard tried not to look impressed as Ronon reached out to touch the solid-looking cover and jerked his hand back at contact. Teyla smiled as the Satedan wrung his hand for a moment. "Smarts," he explained.

"Yeah, don't touch that," Rodney said. He poked again at the display and seemed pleased with the result.

"That works great for you, McKay," Sheppard responded. "Can you make it a bit… bigger? Otherwise we'll have to stack people in there. And I think you might have issues with people… touching you."

"Me?" McKay squawked – his voice sounding strange through the shield. "Oh, let's not even start with that, Mr. "I'm So Cool I Don't Need Anyone'."

Sheppard glanced to Ronon and Teyla. "I AM cool," he told them with mock-seriousness. "Take it down, Rodney."

Rodney poked a couple of buttons. The shield dissolved, which only served to make McKay look more self-satisfied. "Okay, time for the next test. I'll attempt to encompass the whole room." Rodney surveyed the space, and frowned. "Maybe people should move in a few steps? Let's tighten this up a bit." His eyes were sharp as he examined the size of the room, calculating.

People shuffled inward. Albion had already been moved to one of the benches near the center. Ames was at her side. Compacted, the group filled only a few rows across the center of the Meeting Hall.

"Get on with it, McKay," Sheppard urged when Rodney continued to fuss with his data tablet.

"Okay, fine. Here we go." McKay poked a few keys. The hum sounded. People hunched as the wall appeared around the perimeter. They shuffled closer to each other as shimmering walls rose, bending, arching just inside the high ceiling of the Meeting Hall and sealing shut at the top with the same soft sound – 'wup'.

Everything took on a pinkish hue in their quiet refuge. A twittering arose as the Colo looked up at the dome, glad to see the return of their familiar protection. Sound seemed sharper. The walls, though transparent, looked as substantial as anything on their planet.

Sheppard threw McKay a smile, watching as the scientist's gaze stayed on his data tablet. He poked a key or two, made an adjustment and tapped in another command. He muttered to himself quietly as he messed with the pad and shuffled his position.

Not missing the tremble that ran through the man, Sheppard moved closer to him. McKay looked up at his approach and smiled. "Works like a charm," Rodney stated. "And the power source is actually up to the task."

"It'll hold for a while?" Sheppard asked.

"Yes, yes," McKay responded, grimacing. "Can't say for certain how long, especially if the darts really start going after us. No reason to waste power now."

He tapped a few more commands, and the dome disintegrated. The Colo all sighed sadly in unison.

Rodney glanced to the collection of Ancient Devices beside him. "I need to start work on that backup battery."

"No you don't!" Beckett called out. "Rodney, you need to rest or else I'll…" Beckett had been looking downright exhausted since the surgery, and after caring for all the other injured in the Meeting Hall, but now that he'd gotten a good look at McKay, a bit of life had returned to the Scot.

"I need to complete this task or else we'll all die," McKay responded sharply, glaring up at Beckett. "I don't want to sound all doom-and-gloom, but if the shield fails, and we don't have a backup, it'll be Harvest Festival time for the Wraith." He made an attempt to turn about, but his strength failed him. He sagged, sucking in air.

Sheppard helped maneuver him back to the bench, and was beside him as Rodney planted his head in his hands again. The physicist breathed raggedly and had taken on a very unhealthy pallor.

"Rodney? Rodney?" Becket dropped to his knees in front of McKay, grasping him lightly by the arm. "Rodney, listen I need you to be still a moment so I can check your lacerations. Seems you've abused my handiwork more than you should've."

"I don't have time," McKay said softly, without his usual vigor.

"Give me ten minutes," Beckett bargained. "You're bleeding and…"

"Bleeding? Really? Again?"

"Your back, it's a bit of a mess," Beckett stated, sounding apologetic as hell. When McKay looked up at him, the doctor studied his eyes and didn't seem to like what he saw. "Aw, Rodney," he sighed. "You should be in bed."

Defeated, Rodney sighed, "Good luck finding one. I think the last of them must have fallen on the Wicked Witch of the North after the twister."

"The North Witch was the good one," Sheppard told him.

"The pink one?"

"Yeah," Sheppard responded. "The blonde."

"And curiously totally not hot," McKay replied. "Who had the house fall on her then?"

"Wicked Witch of the West," Sheppard informed.

"East," Ronon corrected. When Sheppard, McKay and Beckett turned querulous gazes at him, the Satedan shrugged. "It was on movie night last week. East is the one that was crushed. West wanted Dorothy dead." And he smiled, perhaps appreciating something about the green woman.

"Right, that's right," McKay said with a sigh, letting his head fall into his hands again. "I'm being corrected on pop trivia by a Neanderthal."

Ronon took the comment in good humor, giving the man a slap on the arm.

"Now see," Beckett commented softly. "That just goes to show you need a moment or two of rest. But first, let me see what I can do to correct the mess you made of my work."

McKay looked up, alarmed. "I thought you weren't supposed to let concussed people sleep? What are you trying to do to me?"

Beckett's quiet demeanor didn't change, but Sheppard noticed the line of tension that crossed the doctor's forehead. The doc was exhausted from the 'frontier' surgery.

With a sigh, Carson, declared, "You need some rest Rodney, before the Wraith come."

"But… I can't. I have far too much to do. I need to…" He stared at the devices a moment, his expression confused as he tried to remember. "Fix something. NO! I need to work on the battery, right?"

Damn, Sheppard thought, then ordered, "Let Beckett check on you, McKay. You won't do us much good if you let yourself bleed all over Carson's good work."

"It's not that bad, is it?" McKay whined, reaching a hand toward his back to feel around. "It just hurts when I move." And he stopped the attempt with a gasp.

Yeah, Sheppard thought, problem is, you never stop moving. He grasped McKay firmly by the wrist and brought his arm back in front of him. "Let it be, Rodney. See if you can get some rest once he's done."

"Yeah, yeah," McKay responded. "Sleep a bit then work on the backup battery. Good thought." He tried to nod, but stopped with a wince. "You're not supposed to let concussed people sleep, but I'm not the doctor."

"I'll be sure to wake you up," Beckett soothed. "Now, just lie down on your stomach, Rodney, and let me get my things. I'll be right with you."

As Beckett moved away to fetch his Med Kit, Sheppard followed. "How is he?" the colonel asked.

"He's not good, colonel," Carson returned sharply. "He should be in bed and not constantly moving around and tearing out his stitches. He's lost more blood than he should and all this messing about isn't helping the situation. And, as he's so graciously reminded you, he has a concussion," Carson hissed. "He shouldn't be up at all. He might be in some serious trouble, but I don't have the tools here to diagnose him properly."

The doctor made a vicious grab for his bag, tugging it to himself, stating, "This is not a good situation, and I don't like to see Rodney like this."

"I know," Sheppard responded with a quiet sigh. "But what choice do we have?"  
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Before darkness fell, the Colo had gone out into the wreckage, and had unearthed more items that might be of use, bringing in food and water, blankets and little homey touches -- finding anything that might be of use if they were trapped within the building for two weeks.

The wood stove was fired again, and dinner was prepared. A few Colos cooked for everyone, making sure that the people from Atlantis were well fed with them.

Rodney tried to sleep, but couldn't keep his eyes closed. He continually awoke with a start, getting no more than maybe ten minutes of rest at a time. At one point Beckett was able to have him eat a little supper, but his stomach revolted. A bucket made it to him in time, but he had no desire to try again, much to Carson's consternation and distress.

Albion slept deeply following the operation. Ames still fretted and paced, glancing upward to the ceiling as if expecting the Wraith at any moment.

Sheppard spoke to the Marines, to Teyla and Ronon, trying to decide on a strategy. A few of the Colo gathered close, listening in, but saying nothing. John let them listen, realizing he might need more help in the morning. He kept the discussion to a minimum, sending people to get some rest before the next day

The nights on Colo, after all, were ridiculously short. They would be lucky to get any rest at all.

The night wore on. Most of the Colos slept. The Atlanteans took shifts -- someone always watchful. McKay kept waking with a jolt. Beckett would ask him questions, which annoyed the hell out of the Canadian, and he would drift off quickly, muttering curses, only to wake again a few minutes later.

It was a lousy way to sleep for any of them. After a few hours of that, Sheppard ordered Beckett to get some sleep and sent Ronon and Teyla to do the same.

In the darkness of the Meeting Hall, John waited beside Rodney, checking the time, listening to the night sounds of people sleeping in an uncomfortable situation.

Radcliff walked slowly, following the inside perimeter of the room. The Colo made little snuffling sounds, half strangled sobs, quiet whispers as they confided in one another, a stifled shout as someone came awake from a nightmare, a quiet muttering that faded to nothing. A child whimpered in her sleep.

The lieutenant paced slowly, listening to the night outside the hall as the weather changed.

"Wind is building again," she said softly as she returned to the spot where Sheppard waited.

"Yeah," Sheppard responded unhappily.

The marine said nothing more. Only the tightness of her face betrayed her growing anxiousness. And she turned and began another lap of the room.

John checked his watch again, illuminating the dial. They had two hours until dawn. 

There was a startled gasp from beside him, as McKay twitched and his eyes sprung open. He blinked into the dimness of the room, panting as if panicked.

"McKay," Sheppard whispered.

Rodney's gaze darted about and finally rested on Sheppard. "Oh, he said. "It's you."

Sheppard sighed, and followed the orders he was given – ask three questions and get coherent responses. "Do you know where you are?"

"Hell," McKay growled. "I'm living in hell."

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Some dumbass decided it was a good idea to give a valuable power source to their biggest enemy to show that they were all nicey-nice with each other. Some other idiot figured it would be a fine plan to come here without a puddlejumper. Now, don't ask me what my quest is or if I have a favorite color."

"What do you mean, 'if you have a favorite color'. Don't you have one?" Sheppard asked, watching his friend in the low light. Rodney's responses showed that he had the correct level of cognizance and the complementary level of irritation. "Everyone has a favorite color."

"What's the point of it?" McKay remarked. He looked up at Sheppard. "What's yours?"

"Black," Sheppard responded quickly.

"Is black even technically a color?" Rodney asked. "I mean, if colors need to have 'hue and brightness', and the definition of black is the 'lack of hue and brightness', doesn't that mean that black isn't really a color?"

Maybe he was still confused, Sheppard thought. He sounded confused. John cleared his throat and stated, "All I know is that black is cool. Technically – cool."

"Cool… Yeah, like I know about that. What time is it?" McKay inquired, keeping his voice low.

"We have two hours until dawn."

McKay nodded. "I'd better get to work on the battery." With a grunt, he worked to get himself upright. He wasn't succeeding.

Sheppard offered a hand, giving him a tug, pulling him up slowly, and keeping an eye on Beckett. There was one thing sure to put the doctor on alert and that was one of his patients going against direct orders. But Carson didn't stir, too tired to hear.

Carefully, John helped his friend until he was upright again. Sighing, Rodney settled, sitting on the bench, still looking worn out and beat to hell. Wind rattled as rain pelted windows.

From the other side of the room Radcliff stopped, listening at the wind at the door.

Sheppard watched Rodney, waiting for him to catch his breath. "You okay?"

"Yeah, great, marvelous, couldn't been better," McKay responded, unable to hide a thing in his voice, and he began working on putting together the backup battery. Sheppard left him in peace, joining Radcliff on the rounds, and checking on Albion.

He stopped by Rodney often, to try to talk, but the scientist was in a world all his own as he worked, seeming to concentrate his entire being on just remaining awake and completing the task. Sorry Rodney, Sheppard thought as he moved through the room.

He continued moving, working out a strategy in his head. He'd need to recruit a few of the Colo. If they downed the darts with little damage, then the pilots would become a problem. There'd have to be teams dispatched to finish them off.

The night stretched on, and glance to his watch showed that an hour had passed. He grimaced and stopped by McKay.

"How's it going?" he asked quietly.

Rodney just made an unhappy sound. "Working," he muttered. "It's slow going," he admitted.

Sheppard asked, "Need help?"

With a sigh, McKay told him, "What I need is a brain that doesn't keep shorting out on me. It shouldn't be this hard to think my way through this," he stated, holding out the battery.

Sheppard sat beside him, saying, "Let me know what you need."

There was a low hiss in the room, and Sheppard turned to offer a quick apology for waking someone. Teyla bolted upright, her head turning this way and that, as if trying to find something in the room.

In a lithe movement she was on her feet and crossed the short distance to Sheppard. Her eyes were electric, her stance tight.

Sheppard almost spoke, alarmed by her expression, but she cut him off, speaking in a whisper, "The Wraith -- they are here!" 

TBC


	2. Second Half

PART 9: TROUBLE  
With a whisk of his jacket, Ronon was up, and flying the few steps to where Teyla stood.

"How close?" he demanded, his eyes alert, his stance declaring that he was ready for anything. "The Wraith, where are they?"

Her troubled expression lessened somewhat as she pondered the query, as she searched with her mind. "Very near," she decided. "I believe we have at least an hour to prepare."

Sheppard grimaced, turning to McKay and demanding, "What happened to our twenty-two hours?"

"Arbitrary!" McKay squawked. "It was a completely arbitrary number!"

The conversation woke those around them. The marines automatically drew near. The Colo sat up in their makeshift beds, alert and alarmed.

Beckett awoke, bleary-eyed, and stared out into the still dim room. "What's happening?" he asked Rodney breathlessly. "Are they here? So soon?"

"Apparently they keep their own schedule," McKay muttered. He glared at Sheppard. "See, that's the trouble with making me come up with a timetable for you."

Sheppard made a quick grab, lurching toward the wall and somehow managed to get his hands on the EMP weapon before Ronon even knew what he was doing.

The Satedan's expression alone might have split Sheppard into cordwood, but the colonel stood his ground. He hefted the EMP weapon. "This just about fires itself," John explained. "And it might require the gene. The grenade launcher takes real talent to hit a moving target."

With a grunt, Ronon seemed to accept the pronouncement, and took up the big weapon and the ammo from Woodward. Randall gave it up without a word.

"You're going to go out there?" McKay asked, his voice low.

"Yeah," Sheppard answered in a low voice, thumbing the trigger. "Figure we'll do more good out there than under the shield."

"Yeah," McKay responded quietly, not looking at him.

Sheppard turned, and motioned to the Marines, Ronon and Teyla. They moved to a corner of the room to make their final plans before heading out. Gilbert and Fernald followed them.

On seeing the kid join their group, Sheppard groaned. "Look, Fernald, this isn't the place for…"

"I have the right to join the fight," the kid declared defiantly. "It's my home. I know how to fire a gun. I'm a good shot." He looked out over the rest of the Colo, all awake now and anxiously watching. Ames sat beside Albion, holding her hand. Clemmon stood slowly, watching the proceedings.

Fernald glared at them. "This is our home," he said again, his voice raised. "We must protect it. I will not hide from a fight."

Sheppard regarded the kid, then glanced to Gilbert. He trusted the man, as much as he could in this situation. The Colo shrugged and stated, "He's a good marksman. His father taught him."

With that, the colonel picked up one of the Colos' rifles from their pile of weapons. They were 'wheat' farmers, but the grain was a favorite meal for the birds of the planet. The people of Colo protected what was theirs. One needed sharp eyes and a quick hand to catch a bird in flight.

Sheppard held the weapon a moment, then thought better of it. Instead, he handed it to Gilbert.

Fernald's expectant expression fell, until Sheppard reached for his Beretta.

"I need you to stay here," the colonel said seriously. "And watch over the people that are in the building."

Fernald crossed his arms over his chest. "They have the shield," he grumbled. "They don't need me."

Carefully handing over the weapon, Sheppard told him, "And if the shield fails, I need you to protect them." He nodded toward McKay, who wasn't paying attention, too busy creating another power source. Beckett was near him, trying to help. "Stick close to them," he ordered. "Keep them safe and every one of us will have a better chance of making it through this."

Fernald accepted the weapon. Sheppard handed him his extra clip and jerked his head toward Huxley, ordering the Private to ensure the kid knew how to operate the weapon correctly. That done, he turned to explain the plan of action to those around him.

He didn't have a chance to speak as a new rustling gathered his attention. From behind him, five of the Colo drew near – men and women – some of them looking bold and defiant, others anxious but sure – ready to join the fight.

Sheppard invited them into their group with a nod of his head.  
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Beckett watched, feeling helpless, as Rodney struggled to piece together something out of nothing. The physicist muttered and groused and grumbled as he eviscerated one magnificent Ancient device and then another to retrieve whatever power source was contained within.

There was little he could do – each device was different from the one before and any instructions McKay tried to give him would not carry over to the next task. Rodney found it easier to just do it all himself.

Carson scrubbed at his stubbled chin, wishing there was something he could do, but this sort of surgery was out of his league. All he could do was hand Rodney the tools he requested and assist when called for.

"Is it going to work?" Carson asked, watching Rodney's movements, analyzing each time he fumbled -- observant of each of Rodney's difficulties. There was no doubt that McKay needed to rest. With the vicious lacerations across his back, the uncomfortable bruises, and the concussion -- keeping him up and working was tantamount to torture.

They should revoke my license to practice, Carson thought, but grimly reminded himself that such should have happened long ago if any governing body took notice of what he'd been up to since he entered the Pegasus Galaxy.

Rodney hadn't answered. The wind rattled the door again. The rain had slacked.

"Rodney, do you honestly think this contraption will work?" Carson tried again, watching as McKay frittered a bean-sized bit out of a device.

With an irritated snort, McKay muttered, "It will be like trying to keep a car running on D-cells." The piece freed, he groaned and pressed a hand to his head.

Sighing, Beckett asked, in a sympathetic tone, "How're you doing?"

"I'm working as fast as I can," was the snappy response. "I know I have to get this done. I know I should've finished it last night. I am desperately behind now, so a little less questioning would help."

Beckett sighed when Rodney gave him an unpleasant look. The doctor said nothing for a moment or two. He handed the physicist a tool when McKay looked up, and Rodney worked on the little power source, fitting it in with the others, attaching fine filaments and weaving the lines into almost unseen perforations.

The work was delicate, and when his hand shook, Rodney paused, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Rodney?"

"Yes! Working!" McKay responded, going back to his job.

With a sad sigh, Beckett stated hopefully, "Maybe the Wraith power source will hold? Might not even need that bit you're working on."

"Your world is all lollipops and daffodils, isn't it, Carson?" McKay grumbled. "Sheppard, Ronon, Teyla and the rest are going to be running around outside the whole time, trying to bring down countless darts. How long do you think they'll last out there?" His voice squeaked with the statement. "And if something happened to them…" his voiced faded for a moment before he continued, "How long do you think we'll last without them out there protecting us?"

Beckett tried to console, "Sheppard and the rest are rather clever, you know. They know what they're doing."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," McKay responded as he went back to the battery. Then, as a quiet aside, he added, "I have to make this work. It'll buy us some time."

"And that's all good, but what about the Gate?" Beckett asked. "I mean, if we can get that Gate fixed, we won't need to wait for the Daedalus."

McKay kept poking at the makeshift UPS battery. "I have an idea," he told him, a smile creeping to his face.

"Are you planning on sharing this clever plan with anyone?" Beckett pressed.

Apparently done with his latest hook up, Rodney reached for the next bit of tech at his side. "We're going to have darts dropping left and right," McKay said simply.

"Yes, that's the idea, isn't it?"

"Sheppard can fly one," McKay explained.

"Aye, he can fly damn near anythin', can't he?" Beckett said reflectively. "So you think we can use one to battle with the rest of the Wraith then?"

"No," McKay replied snidely. "The EMP pulse, by my calculation, should knock out a dart for at least an hour, then it'll snap out of it – re-initiate its systems and be capable of flight again."

"This fight will last hours," Beckett reminded. "Much longer than that."

"Hopefully not," McKay told him, picking up another of the donated Ancient devices. "The Wraith aren't expecting resistance. They'll send out five darts or so to scout us out. A few well-aimed shots and I'm thinking Sheppard and the rest can drop all of them. That should alarm the others back in the Hive, huh? It'll take a while for them to figure out what to do next. It'll give us a window."

"Now, look who's talkin' daffodils and lollipops," Beckett responded.

Rodney drew his mouth into a tight line and went back to working on his project.

Since Rodney had shut up, Beckett released a sigh and said, "I don't understand where you're going. Why do we need a dart then if it's not for fighting them?"

Annoyed, McKay told him, "We use a dart to flip the Gate."

The idea flabbergasted the doctor for a moment. "What? You just drive the nose of that thing under the Gate and flip it over like a pig after truffles?"

For that, Beckett received a withering look from the prickly physicist. "No! And what sort of analogy is that? Listen, we'll wire up a harness on the Gate, and attach it to the dart. A little maneuvering and, if it's done just right, we'll flip the Gate like a pancake."

"Ah, a pancake then."

"Better than your truffle analogy."

Beckett nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose that could be done."

"Of course it 'could' be done," McKay shot back.

"But how likely?"

A groan. "Well, I've seen a spool of cable somewhere in the town. Looked pretty substantial. Seems like it'd have enough tensile strength to manage the job. I wouldn't want to be standing anywhere near the procedure if something decided to go 'snap', but I think it would work."

Carson nodded, growing warmer to the idea. "Aye, it sounds possible, doesn't it?"

"What else do we have?" McKay asked with a sigh.

"Little to nothing," Beckett admitted.

Studying the latest bit of tech, McKay went on, "Then it'll mean getting the DHD wired to the Gate to give it power – and Kawhooosh – we can go home." He blinked blearily at the strange device in his hand.

"And you know how that's going to be done?" Beckett continued, more to see if McKay had an answer than out of any real need to know the process.

"Of course," McKay returned. "I'll just need to run cable from the DHD's base to somewhere – anywhere – on the Gate. Doesn't take a rocket scientist." And he chuckled a little as if that was a joke, but the amusement disappeared almost instantly as McKay continued his study of the piece. "Easy. I could do it with one hand tied behind my back," he declared, not sounding sure of anything.

"I see," said Beckett, not liking the confused look that continued to play across his friend's face. "So…" Carson tried. "I was right then. If the colonel is able to flip over the Gate during this 'window', we might not even need that backup battery."

With a tired sigh, McKay muttered, "Lollipops and daffodils, Carson. But it's the only idea I have at the moment." And he pressed a hand to his forehead again, as if it might help him think.

Beckett nodded softly, and then asked, "You tell Sheppard your plan yet?"

"Haven't had the time," McKay admitted. He stared at the hand-sized device, glaring at it, then turned it slowly about. The angry expression become crestfallen. With a disgusted sigh, he admitted, "I don't know what this is." He let the thing drop to his side as he rubbed his head dolefully.

Carson grimaced, hating his inability to help him.

"Stupid that I can't figure it out. I should… know…" McKay muttered.

"You're almost done," Beckett tried to comfort. "That one doesn't matter, does it? You've got plenty of other batteries."

Rodney said nothing, and Beckett wasn't even sure that McKay had heard him.

McKay's eyes seemed to focus on a corner of the room as he hunched over in his misery. "I hate this," he murmured. "It's like I'm working on half-power."

"Aye," was all Beckett could say in return, but sorry nonetheless.

The men and women at the back of the room started moving toward the door -- the Marines, Teyla, Ronon, Sheppard and six of the Colo -- Gilbert and Clemmon among them. Fernald held back, skirting the group and finally coming up alongside Beckett. He held a 9mm at his side, already looking attentive.

"Well, we're going to head out," Sheppard told them, his voice casual as he checked the big weapon.

"Don't forget to insert the key into the EMP gun before you use it," Rodney reminded. "It takes a hell of a lot of power."

"Right," Sheppard responded.

"And the range on the weapon, I'm thinking that it won't be as far as you'd like," Rodney told him. "Probably a mile or so."

"Great," Sheppard muttered as he handled the weapon.

"He has an idea about the Gate," Beckett commented brightly.

"Oh, do you?" Sheppard replied, leaning close.

McKay quickly related what he'd just told Beckett concerning the darts and the Gate, with Carson stepping in to add information when McKay seemed to forget what he was saying. The fact that he needed the help made Sheppard's brow furrow in concern.

"Cable?" Sheppard echoed.

"Saw a spool of it somewhere," McKay told him, blinking as he tried to recall where.

One of the Colo in Sheppard's group spoke up. "I know where it is," she said, a pretty young woman, with honey-colored hair that she'd tied back in a ponytail.

"Yeah," a young man responded. "Me and Valeria can show you."

"Great," Sheppard stated. "Radcliff and Woodward," he nodded to two of the marines. "You're going with these folks. Find the cable and get it to the Gate. You should be able to roll it, right? See if you can figure something out when you get there."

"Figure something out?" Radcliff repeated, looking uncertain.

Sheppard shrugged. "I have faith," he said, and then with a gesture sent the four through the door, to find the spool of cable and get it to the Gate. "All right, the rest of us had better get into position."

Teyla and Ronon paused at the door, both of them glancing toward Beckett and McKay. Teyla smiled at the pair, hiding any unease beneath the warm expression. Ronon nodded and the two left the relative safety of the Meeting Hall and into the humid darkness.

The sky was just beginning to lighten above the destroyed buildings.

The rest of the group left the building until only Sheppard remained.

"Are you guys ready?" he asked.

"Ready? No, how could we possibly be ready for this?" McKay responded petulantly.

"Figure I'll radio you at the first sign of trouble. Teyla will let us know," Sheppard told him.

"Remember what I said about the darts," McKay said, "You'll need to get one down without smashing it to pieces."

"It can be done," Sheppard told him, cradling the EMP weapon carefully in his hands. "Think the dart can pull the weight of the Gate?"

"Maybe. Probably. I'm not certain about how much weight a dart can handle, but if they rig it up correctly…" McKay held up his hands, and Beckett had to marvel at Rodney's gestures that spelled out everything he wanted to convey. "…you won't have to lift the entire weight. Just lever it upright, onto its edge, and then let it fall – onto its back. You should be able to hover long enough to perform a fairly easy maneuver. Okay, maybe 'easy' isn't the right word, but..."

Sheppard watched the gestures. "Fine," he declared.

"Oh," McKay responded. "Great! You got it." He beamed and gave Sheppard a 'thumbs up'.

"Yeah," Sheppard replied. He turned to Beckett. "Doc, keep an eye on the people here, okay." He glanced toward McKay as he made his statement.

"I will," Carson promised. "My thoughts will be with you," he added, wishing he could say more, wanting something meaningful to say at this moment.

"Oh," McKay exclaimed, pointing toward the gun in John's arms. "Can you do me a favor and do NOT fire that weapon in this direction? Because, it'd probably shut down the shield."

"Good to know."

"And give that weapon enough time to charge. Don't expect to be able to fire off a dozen shots in a row. It takes a lot of power to fire off a pulse, and it's not just 'point and shoot'. You have to find your target on the screen and allow the equipment to hone in on it. It'll probably hesitate. Be ready for that, and make sure you don't go off 'half cocked'."

"Yeah," Sheppard responded, keeping the big gun close to his chest.

"And keep your head down," McKay tried.

"Kinda hard to fire at something that's in the air if my head is down," Sheppard told him.

"Oh, yeah," McKay responded, looking frustrated at being unable to come up with any comeback. He shrugged and winced again as he stretched the wounds on his shoulders.

"So long, Rodney," Sheppard said quickly, slipping through the doorway and out into the humid moist weather.

The door shut behind Sheppard, but McKay continued to stare after him. "I hate it when he says that," he muttered, and went back to work on the battery.

PART 10: TUMBLE  
The sky lightened with morning as the groups hunched amid the ruined buildings. They stared up at the gray morning sky. The weather remained sulky, humid, unpleasant. The clouds hung like heavy curtains – forbidding and dark.

Sheppard studied the strange EMP weapon, wishing there'd been a chance to test it out before the attack. It'd truly suck if this thing turned out to be some sort of a toaster-oven instead of the promised weapon.

Beside him, Teyla sat, her eyes closed as she monitored the progress of the Wraith. Gilbert and Clemmon were with them, looking anxious and alert, glancing across the street to the group of Colos imbedded with Ronon and Huxley.

The anticipation was the worst part – waiting in the humid dawn. Sheppard clung tightly to the EMP weapon, wanting this to start even as he dreaded it –let's get going so we can get it over with.

He thumbed the hanging key and glanced across the debris-strewn street to Ronon. Dex pulled off an air of detachment as he held the grenade launcher, but Huxley looked a little green around the gills.

Woodward and Radcliff were further south with the Colos, working at the Gate. They were exposed at that location, but the Wraith should be concentrating on the town. The natives were armed with their own weapons, powerful rifles and revolvers. The Atanteans, with their heftier arms, would take down the Wraith darts – the Colos would join the Marines in chasing down the ships to finish off any survivors.

It wasn't the best plan, but they had limited resources and not enough soldiers. It would have to do.

Sheppard gazed again at Teyla. She looked almost serene as she plumbed the heavens, eavesdropping, keeping her distance – their early warning system.

The sky grew lighter with each passing moment. A flock of black birds took flight, their wings making a clattering against the thick air.

Gilbert and Clemmon both tensed, their eyes narrowing on the thieving birds, hands creeping toward their weapons as if they couldn't help themselves. Realizing what she was doing, Clemmon withdrew her hand and smiled at John.

Saving their fields really didn't matter anymore, did it? Their town was gone – their homes – everything. All they had left were their lives. The birds could have the fields.

Gilbert's eyes followed the flock that dove and rose and whirred across the sky like one being. When the birds landed and disappeared in the middle of a nearby field, he let out a little sigh.

And again, it was quiet. They waited. The birds called to one another. 

Suddenly, Teyla's eyes opened wide, her body tense. "Now!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing over his radio. She scrambled into a hunched position in the rubble. "They are coming, now!"

"McKay!" Sheppard shouted into his mic as he fit the key into the EMP weapon, instantly bringing it to life.

"On it!" was the short reply – followed by a hum and a wup from inside the Meeting Hall. Sheppard glanced toward the building, expecting it to look different somehow, but it remained a beat-up building on a beat-up planet.

A high whine split the sky and Sheppard jerked his head toward it, searching for the dart. Hidden in the thick clouds, it screamed toward them. He lifted the weapon, letting it rest on his shoulder as he brought up the display.

He shouted, "We have five targets."

"I got the lead one," Ronon announced.

Sheppard grimaced, considered arguing the point, but conceded, "I got Number 2."

Dex fired the instant the first dart came clear of the clouds. The blast from the grenade launcher hit the craft, exploding into it blackly, shoving it upward until gravity pulled the crumbled ship down, twisting and turning. It tumbled to the ground.

Sheppard, grinning tightly at Ronon's success, zeroed in on the second ship with his EMP weapon. With one quick hope that he wouldn't be punched into next week by the recoil, he pulled the trigger. 

Nothing happened.

He waited a heartbeat – watching the display light up. The gun whirred, and characters blinked.

Waiting in horrible anticipation as indecipherable letters ran across his screen. Damn… damn… Work, you stupid…!

As he followed the path of the ship with the display, the weapon went off. 

He'd been expecting the kick, he'd braced himself for it – but the sensation was entirely different. A strange numbness ran down his arm, from his shoulder to his hand – lasting only a second. The weapon made a sound – a strange sort of 'huff', like an old man gasping -- and nothing else. The display went back to a 'wait' screen.

Incredulous, Sheppard opened his mouth to shout at McKay, to beg answers.

And the dart he had targeted fell.

The high whine stopped instantly and the dart seemed to stagger in the sky. It lost power and fell, still following its original path – and clomped to the earth not far from where Ronon's ship smoldered. Indignant black birds rose like a cloud around it.

Huxley let out a whoop and went back to firing his P90 at one of the remaining ships. Sheppard blinked in surprise, the thump of Teyla's weapon firing near him.

One of the remaining darts was tottering under the combined fire of Huxley and Teyla's weapons. Ronon finished off another with a shot from the grenade launcher.

John focused the EMP weapon again – letting the gun hone in on the one dart that had remained unscathed. The gun tracked the flight of the ship, flashing strange symbols at him and he pulled the trigger again.

Another maddening hesitation and instead of a whirr, more symbols flashed at him – in red this time.

"Damn!" Not fully charged.

"Colonel?" a worried voice came over the comm. "Colonel? It would be helpful to know what's going on out there. Really… helpful. Because we're kind of in the dark here. Well, not literally, but figuratively."

"How long?"

"What sort of question is that? How long? How long… what?"

"How long until this piece of crap recharges?"

"A minute, a half-minute, maybe two minutes. Something like that."

"Great!" Sheppard ducked as the remaining two darts came about. The impaired ship came first, followed by the one that had escaped damage. Around him, his people popped up like prairie dogs – heavily-armed and highly-dangerous prairie dogs. They opened fire, concentrated on the lead ship as John tried the weapon again, targeting the last one.

He was met this time with the quiet whirr, the thrum that made his arm feel heavy and numb, the wheezy 'huff' – and the last two darts wheeled about – one exploded in a fiery conflagration under the onslaught of weapons fire, and the other just – shut down. It faltered in the sky, tipping and waggling as the pilot tried to fight it without success. It lost any lift it might have possessed and fell like a stone, tumbling into the field after the other one.

Okay, that was cool.

Letting out a sigh, Sheppard looked up. Teyla smiled at him, holding her P90 steady. The two Colo who were with Ronon were already hoofing it into the fields, after the downed pilots to finish them off. At least, with the EMP weapon, the Wraith's self-destruct would be knocked out of commission, along with their weapons.

Ronon stepped clear of his 'foxhole' long enough to give Sheppard a nod before he took off to check the wreckage of a different ship with Huxley.

Clemmon and Gilbert stepped to the street, eager to get moving, to check out another of the wrecks, but Teyla still scanned the skies.

They'd taken down five Wraith ships in a matter of minutes. It couldn't be that easy, could it?

"They gone?" Sheppard asked, watching Teyla's movements.

"They're are confused," she responded. "They are wary."

"Damn well better be."

"They weren't expecting this," Teyla told him, looking pleasantly encouraged.

"It's about time we got the jump on them," Sheppard replied. "They think they're the only ones who can craft a sneaky plan. They'd…"

"Wait!" she whispered, her face taking on an alarm. "They are sending more!"

"Ronon!" Sheppard called over the radio. He watched as the Satedan paused in his tracks, the long stalks of grain up to his knees.

Dex looked up into the rolling clouds and brought his weapon up again, firing as the second wave of darts broke through.  
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"What's going on?" McKay demanded, gazing frantically up through the mauve glow of the shield to the Hall's wooden ceiling above. His eyes searched, wishing he could see. "Colonel?"

"The second wave!" Sheppard cried breathlessly. He was running by the sound of it.

"Is the EMP weapon working correctly? Were you able to target any of the ships? Have you figured out how long the delay is going to be when you recharge, because I think it'll be a half-minute or so. There should be some sort of message regarding that on your screen. You're going to have to factor that in, remember? And that hesitation before it fires – don't forget that." McKay paused to take a breath. He staggered to his feet and restated everything as, "How's it goin'?"

"Kinda busy right now!" And Sheppard grunted sharply as if he'd jumped or landed or was knocked over. It was hard to tell.

"Colonel?"

"Busy, McKay!" was the sharp retort.

"Is everyone…? I mean, are Teyla and Ronon… everyone…?"

"We're still moving. Get off the line!"

McKay frowned, and switched his gaze to glare at Beckett as if he could be found at fault for something.

Carson was beside Albion again, ensuring that she was still doing well. He gave Rodney a reassuring smile when he found that expression fixed on him. "They're doing all right," the doctor assured. "By the sound of it, they're giving those beasties a run for the money."

"He wouldn't tell me if the weapon worked!" McKay declared unhappily.

"I'm sure you'd know it if it didn't. He'd give you an earful," Beckett reasoned, carefully feeling for Albion's pulse as the woman gazed up at him wearily. Ames was never far from her side and crouched beside the doctor, looking frightened and trapped.

Outside, the world once again broke into a cacophony. Everyone in the room flinched, moving in toward the shield device, drawing closer to their loved ones as a battle raged outside. Something struck the roof of the Meeting Hall – banging and clattering its way to the ground, drawing gasps.

McKay listened. He could make out the bark of the P90's and the FUMP- kaPOW of the grenade launcher – the sounds moving further off with each second. They all must have been in motion.

Rodney tried to picture it – seeing his teammates running for their lives from the darts. He gulped and closed his eyes, unconsciously angling himself toward the door.

The report of the local weapons punctuated the clamor. The Colo must have reached some of the downed darts. Without realizing it, McKay held his breath, straining to hear the EMP weapon – yet knowing it wouldn't make much of a sound – maybe a whirr if that. There was nothing to tell him if it was functioning. He closed his eyes tightly as he concentrated, determined to make out what the different sounds meant.

A smile crept to him as he discerned a change in the pitch of the swarm. He could pick out each dart if he listened closely enough – another five had arrived -- they each had their own tone – and one voice had suddenly gone out – without a 'boom' or 'kablam'.

He laughed slightly and turned to Beckett. "It works," he stated. Laughing again as he heard a dart slamming into the ground.

Beckett looked at the scientist as if he'd gone mad. But Rodney paid him no mind, smiling, looking thoroughly pleased as he bowed his head and returned to working on the backup battery.

Voices rang on the radio, and Rodney counted the seconds between responses from Teyla, Ronon and Sheppard. Growing anxious when one voice delayed for too long, he'd stop his work, and wait, forcing himself not to speak up because his chatter was wasted when their lives were at stake.

Then Ronon or Teyla or Sheppard would say something, and he could get back to work, listening to the whine of the darts and counting.  
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"Son of a bitch," Sheppard roared as he targeted the weapon again and was met with the bright red symbols on the display. "Damn it! This recharge is worse than one of those crappy old flash cameras."

Teyla said nothing, knowing that it was the easiest response to his unfathomable comment. She was hunched down in the long golden stalks of grain, watching as the darts wheeled in the sky.

They'd taken down seven Wraith ships so far – five of the first batch and two of the second. Another three were buzzing around their heads. Beside her, John was panting, the EMP weapon resting across his knees. Gilbert and Clemmon were no longer with them – they'd gone to dispatch another Wraith pilot and had proudly reported on their borrowed radio that their mission was accomplished.

So far, they'd been lucky and none of the monsters had stepped free.

She listened to the Wraith, keeping her mind open. She felt their frustration, their anger, their rage. She felt their surprise and a tingle of fear. The Wraith were powerful, and anything that brought them to their knees was to be approached with trepidation.

The ships circled them, keeping their distance. John had discovered the weapon's limited range, which sucked when the darts kept their distance, but helped in another way. A downed craft, miles away, with a possibly living Wraith, was just a bad idea. The creatures could move quickly on foot, even after a crash.

They were better off keeping the crashes nearby – and dispatching the creatures before they could get out of their ships.

So now, they were waiting as the darts cruised, circling slowly – like predators. She felt the hunger of the Wraith, felt their anger, their annoyance, their uncertainty.

There was a blast in the distance. Black birds squawked. Sheppard's hand instantly went to his radio. "Ronon?"

"Took care of the last grounded one," the Satedan reported.

"Good," Sheppard responded, watching as the birds took flight, heading toward the horizon.

"Everyone," he announced. "Regroup." He released the mic and turned to Teyla. "Chasing down those sons of bitches spread us out too much," he declared. "We're probably a mile or two from Meeting Hall now."

Teyla nodded in response. Perhaps it was the merciless thoughts of the creatures, flitting around her mind. She wanted familiar, she wanted comfort – she wanted to have her friends with her. 

"As far as we know, that shield is still doing its job," Sheppard told her. "Rodney would have told us if it was failing. Wonder why the Wraith haven't tried to hit it yet. McKay didn't say it worked like a cloak, too, did he?"

"He did not," Teyla confirmed and then added thoughtfully, "I believe it would be visible on the Wraith's sensors, but the building is acting as their cloak."

With a sigh, John stated, "Yeah, they know the Colo have a shield, but what we have rigged up here is probably confusing them. Only a matter of time and they'll try to hit it with something big. Let's close ranks. We have too many holes right now."

She stood slowly, nodding, and they made their way slowly toward the others. She desperately wanted to be near them. She could feel the hatred of the creatures – the Wraith weren't even hungry anymore – they wanted revenge. She could feel their anger, thick on her tongue. She spat, as if she could rid herself of the sensation.

As Sheppard and Teyla moved toward the Meeting Hall, their eyes remained on the darts that circled, keeping their distance.

"Seven darts down is pretty impressive," Sheppard commented. "We gave them something to think about, if nothing else. Maybe they'll back off for a bit. Leave us alone for long enough to…"

Teyla stopped, blinking hard as a new sensation crossed her – a clearly formed thought struck. "John!" she cried.

He turned sharply, facing her with wide eyes. She pointed. Sheppard spun about, gazing in the direction she'd indicated.

The three ships broke their circle and closed in. With one quick movement, Sheppard raised his weapon, sighting the first ship on the display, and then swore thickly as he charted their path.

The darts screamed onward, heading directly toward the Meeting Hall, coming in on a collision course. Sheppard couldn't get a clear shot at any of them without risking shutting down the shield in the process.

"Ronon! Take them down!" Sheppard yelled, lowering the useless weapon and clasping it under his arm as he started running. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Son of a Bitch!"

Teyla ran, trying to get within range. She could hear Sheppard running behind her, shouting over the radio, "Rodney! Carson! You've got three darts on a collision course, coming in at twelve o'clock!"  
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At Sheppard's first shout Rodney came to attention. Ronon? Why's he shouting for Ronon? Is he hurt? What's happening?

Fretfully, he glanced to Beckett, who was still with Albion. The doctor returned his concerned expression.

At the second shout, everything changed.

"What?" Rodney cried. "Twelve o'clock? From whose perspective? What the hell kind of direction is…"

He was still shouting when everything exploded around them. Rodney tumbled to the ground, throwing his arms out before him, wincing as he hit the ground hard. Wood and debris flashed around them, thrown up in a horrible shattering concussion as the Meeting Hall went to pieces.

 

PART 11: BABBLE  
Ronon shouted in frustration and rage. He was too far away to get a good shot, and had been able to hit only one of the three ships, but it did little to slow its trajectory. The three darts, like bullets from a gun, crashed full speed into the Meeting Hall.

The building exploded. Wood and debris scattered everywhere, impacting into the already devastated streets. The last building still standing on Colo disintegrated before his eyes in a hail of wood and flying pieces of Wraith technology.

He ran – barely flinching as the fragments came at him. He jumped over the scattered debris. He changed his direction as a huge piece of dart engine crashed into his path, rerouting himself to stay on course once he was around it. He ran toward the disaster even before everything had settled. He ran to save his people, to dig out McKay yet again, to find Beckett, to save them for he hadn't managed to protect them.

His chest tightened at that thought and he pressed himself to a faster speed, barely hearing the chatter over his radio in his determination to reach the others.

He had failed them.

It took a moment for him to realize what was just before him – in the midst of all the destruction and shimmering in mauve – the shield – a dome.

He let out a laugh, little more than an exhale. The shield had worked. Ronon slowed, seeing no reason for the rush anymore. Everyone was safe and sound. He felt proud of the physicist and a little chagrinned at himself.

And then he saw it.

One dart, nestled at the base of the dome, had escaped annihilation on the shield. He picked up speed.

He could see the pilot within the dart. He could tell that it was alive.

Voices buffeted his ears as he closed the distance on the crashed ship. He could hear Sheppard calling for McKay or Beckett to respond, and there was a din over the radio, excited, frightened voices. Someone's radio must have been on within that dome.

The dome seemed to thrum resentfully. He reached the wrecked dart that leaned against the seemingly substantial wall.

Over the radio, he could hear Beckett calling for McKay. He didn't chance lifting his head to look inside the dome. He let the babble fade.

There was movement within the wreck. He approached it carefully but quickly, his weapon extended and powered it up.

The Wraith was struggling, trying to free itself from its seat. It never saw him. Ronon didn't care if it was afraid. He didn't care if it was surprised. He didn't need it to see him. It didn't need to know what was coming.

He wanted only one thing – a clean shot.

 

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Beckett unfolded from his protective position over Albion and looked in disbelief at the world above. The building was gone – utterly gone, leaving the insides untouched.

"Good God in Heaven," he exclaimed, gazing around him. The Colo had ducked down, huddled into whatever holes they could quickly find. Daylight flooded them, tinted in a rosy hue. They now had a view the leveled town, the smoke that rose from the fields, and the gray-black clouds. A Wraith dart, looking mostly undamaged, smoldered just outside the dome.

Fernald, one of the few people still upright in the room, stood in a crouch. He looked ready to jump in any direction if someone would just shout for him to do so.

Beckett returned his attention to his patient, and Albion smiled up at him, looking pale and weak, but alive. Ames cringed beneath the bench. The area was alive with chatter.

With a realization, Beckett gasped and switched his gaze to the Wraith 'bomb', grateful to find it exactly as they'd left it. "Thank God," he whispered. "Thank God." The last they needed was to flood the dome with some sort of paralyzing agent.

"Beckett! McKay!" Sheppard was shouting over the radio.

Cueing his mic, Beckett responded, trying to keep the quaver from his voice, "We're fine. The shield held. The Wraith device is untouched." He searched, trying to find McKay.

"Rodney?" he called as he moved past Fernald and covered the short distance to where he'd last seen McKay at the shield device.

Carson found him, tucked in beside the apparatus, rolled on his side and trembling. "Rodney?"

"Fine…" was the frustrated response. "I'm fine." With a gasp and a shudder, he tried to push himself upright.

Beckett was beside him in an instant. "Easy now," he said quietly, offering an arm, and helping the physicist to sit up. Instantly he noticed that the state of the bandages around his shoulders and back. He'd replaced them the day before, but blood was spotting through again. "Oh Rodney, what did you do?"

"I was just trying to…" he stopped and gasped. "… to get out of the way." He glanced up. "The shield held." He smiled then, looking confident. "I told you it would."

Rodney was panting, closing his eyes and looking queasy. Beckett gritted his teeth, frustrated and concerned, hating himself for not being able to do much of anything for his friend.

"How are you feeling?" Beckett tried again, his voice quiet.

"Gimmie a minute, okay."

"A minute, then," Beckett agreed, keeping a strong arm on Rodney, helping him sit up. "Just be still for a bit."

Rodney let out a slow breath and seemed to come around. "Be still?" he gibbered. "We were just kamikazed!" He staggered, shoving down on Beckett's shoulder and struggling to get his feet under him.

Carson helped, wishing he could have forced Rodney to stay down instead. Why the hell was he allowing Rodney to get up? No doctor in his right mind would allow this. It's madness, he decided.

As he helped support the physicist, he gazed to the dart that leaned against the dome, so precariously close to them. Around the craft, the dome seemed to hum.

"Everything's fine, Rodney," Beckett tried to assure. "The shield held and…"

"Fine? Did you say fine?" Rodney kept his weight on Carson's shoulder as he stood, trembling. "Because, I know I've been better!"

I'm sorry about that, Carson thought, unable to speak the words. I'm so sorry. Unable to meet Rodney's gaze, he watched the dart.

The Wraith pilot leaned limply in his seat. From his perspective, Beckett could see little of the creature, but it didn't stop him from realizing that the thing still lived. He considered what injuries it might have suffered from the crash and decided it chances of survival were little to none.

"We're still alive," Carson tried. "They haven't gotten us yet."

"Matter of time," Rodney said, gazing around for a moment and then flinching away, as if even the filtered sunlight hurt his eyes. "The building's gone," he stated, wonder in his voice.

Carson stood, slowly, keeping a steadying hand on Rodney. As he came to full height, he glanced to Fernald who kept nearby. The kid stood with his arms crossed over his chest, trying to look sharp and strong. Around them, the Colo babbled like a brook.

McKay just gazed at the shield device, inspecting the displays. With a groan, he moved toward it, his step uneven.

Beckett caught a motion out of the corner of his eye and turned. The Wraith moved, his hand reaching toward his chest. "No!" Carson gasped.

A blast sounded, loud.

Beckett flinched but couldn't take his eyes off the sight as the Wraith jerked violently and went still.

With a racing heart, Beckett tried to understand, but Ronon appeared, just outside their dome. Dex stood, aiming his weapon at what was left of a Wraith pilot.

"Oh, thank God…" McKay sighed, watching as well. "We could have… if that thing had set off the self-destruct… that could have been bad. Very bad."

Carson found that he was holding his breath, watching as Ronon closed on the blasted creature. The Satedan moved purposefully, checking to ensure that the thing was truly dead. Once he was convinced, Dex turned and gazed in at them. He nodded sharply, seeming glad to find them both alive.

Beckett waved in return. McKay returned his attention to the device.

Ronon, satisfied, turned and headed in the direction of the fields.

And for a moment – all was peaceful. Carson smiled, hoping, as he gazed upward through the dome and into the now visible clouds, searching for Wraith ships.

The clouds were low, hiding the sky. It wasn't good weather for fighting spaceships.

"We are in so much trouble," McKay muttered.

"But the shield worked," Carson commented helpfully. "Perfectly!" He listened on the radio as the various groups reported in. His smile increased. "We're still here. And our people made it through."

Rodney leaned on the shield device. He groaned and tsked and muttered as he checked the readouts. "Yeah, but for how long," he said with a sigh.

"McKay," Sheppard's voice crackled over the radio. "Report!"

Looking annoyed as hell, McKay declared, "We still have power, but it's going fast. We will NOT withstand another attack like that." He pressed a hand against his head as he leaned against the device. "Can you just… keep them away from here?"

"Yeah, good idea," Sheppard responded, a sarcastic tone to his voice. "We'll remember that as we're trying to keep from getting ourselves blown to bits."

Rodney lifted his head. "You do that," he commented. He seemed nervous, anxious. He stared through transparent shield in the direction of Sheppard and the others, his hands clenching and unclenching. He took a half step toward the edge of the shield, as if itching to join them.

Then after a moment, Sheppard had a softer tone. He sounded… concerned. "You know, next time they come back, they'll probably open fire on the shield. Now that they have a good look at what they're dealing with, they'll have an idea of how to attack it."

"Yes, yes, I know," McKay snapped. "We're a veritable display case, a delicatessen here under glass." He continued to survey the displays, poking the keyboard. "I'll keep the shield working for as long as I can! Just don't let them ram us again!"

"Got it," Sheppard replied. And then after a moment, he asked, "How many more ships do you think they have?"

"It's a hive, Colonel," McKay said tiredly. He sagged, his head down, showing every inch of weariness. "They have plenty."

"You said they'd pull back and give us a window, give us a chance to retrieve one of these downed darts," Sheppard reminded. "Think that'll happen any time soon?"

"I don't know," McKay responded, blinking at the device in front of him. "How are they doing with the cables and the Gate?"

Radcliff's voice joined the conversation. "We've been pretty busy, sir," she said, sounding out of breath, "But we've made good progress. Should get it together soon."

Sheppard added, "I think we have a good candidate for our ship. One of the darts came down nice and easy. We managed to get rid of the pilot without putting any unnecessary holes in it. I'm going to go check it out."

"Good," McKay responded quietly, closing his eyes tightly and starting to sway.

Beckett was at Rodney's side in an instant, catching one of his elbows and catching him before he took a tumble. "Rodney," Beckett cried.

Rodney's feet skittered for a moment, and he huffed, pulling away from Carson's caring touch. "I'm fine," he growled.

"No, you're not!" Carson snapped back at him. "Any fool could see you are not fine. Now, you're going to sit down before I have to knock you down myself!"

Beckett was surprised by Rodney's lack of snappy comeback. The physicist just sighed dejectedly.

Quickly, Beckett maneuvered McKay to the bench where he could sit. "Just for a moment," Beckett promised as Rodney sighed. "We got a bit of a break here. We'd best take advantage of it."

"It won't last," McKay mumbled. "More darts are just around the corner. They've sent out a few scouts, but you know more are coming. It's like we're poking the beehive." He snorted as if something he'd said was funny. "Have I ever mentioned that I'm allergic to bee stings?"

"Yes, Rodney," Beckett responded in a kindly tone.

"Deathly allergic," he sighed, looking away. "The darts -- we've been… I mean, the Colonel and the others have been able to take them down, but for how long? There's too many of them. Sooner or later…"

"We're not giving up," Beckett pledged. "We're going to get through this one way or another."

"Just keep thinking that," McKay muttered. Defeated, he attempted to lean back, without success. Miserable, he moved a hand to help support himself, and it brushed against the hand-shaped piece of Ancient equipment he'd examined earlier. He picked it up and glared at it.

Beckett said nothing immediately, watching the sky, wondering how their people were doing. The radio announced their progress. Apparently the dart was in one piece, but didn't want to power up immediately. The electromagnetic pulse hadn't worn off. They'd have to wait until the ship shook off the beam that had knocked it silly.

"Have you figured out what that is yet?" Beckett asked finally, as Rodney continued to scrutinize the device.

"It's useless," Rodney grumbled. "It has no power source. It has no discernable use. It's incomplete, ineffective. It's like a useless limb, part of something that…" He paused, and his bleary-looking eyes became sharp as he considered. "Wait… wait… wait…"

"What?' Beckett responded, hopefully.

Rodney's gaze seemed to eat up the thing as he turned it this way and that, then snapped his fingers. "Fernando!" he called.

The kid turned to him, looking perplexed.

Rodney snapped his fingers again and Fernald came to attention, and hurried to his side.

"What is this?" McKay demanded.

If the boy looked puzzled before, he looked completely flummoxed now. "I don't know," he explained. "I have no idea."

Rodney grimaced. "Wonderful. Look, does it look familiar at all? " When the kid didn't reply immediately, he raised his voice. "Does anyone know where this came from?"

McKay made an attempt to hold the device aloft, but stopped the moment he tried to lift his arm. Beckett made a move to help, but Fernald was first, grabbing the thing from Rodney's hands and energetically thrusting the piece upward for all to see.

There was a low murmur in the room as people commented to one another, but no one made a response. Ames drew back.

"Oh, come on!" McKay snapped. "It's part of a larger device, and I'm thinking big – very big. Someone had to have seen it."

Nobody spoke up.

Rodney sat forward, his arms resting across his knees, but his eyes scanning the crowd.

Fernald glanced to Ames and then slowly lowered the piece, giving it a good look. "Now…" he started, paused and cleared his throat nervously. "Now that you mention it…"

"Yes, yes…" Rodney encouraged.

"It looks sort of like that key on that … ah… EMP gun," Fernald stated, struggling to remember what the strangers had named the device. "But a lot bigger."

"Yes, yes…" McKay went on. "So, can you tell me, do you know of anything in this town, ANYTHING that it might belong to? It would be big – really big. Might look a lot like that EMP Gun."

Fernald watched Ames as he responded with, "Well, there's the Star Finder."

"The Star Finder?" Beckett repeated, looking at Rodney in wonder.

The name annoyed the physicist. "Oh, I doubt that it's for looking at stars," McKay muttered.

The kid shrugged. "But the Star Finder is big -- too big to be a gun. The Ancestors used it to point at the heavens."

McKay smiled, a liveliness returning to his expression. "Pointing at the stars? And you've seen it do this?"

Fernald said glumly, "The Ancestors are gone. They were the only ones who could use it."

"Not the only ones," McKay declared, poking a thumb at his chest. "I could definitely make use of it."

"It's not yours to take!" Ames shouted suddenly, leaping toward McKay.

Beckett stepped forward, blocking him from getting any closer. "Back up, son," Carson ordered, his usually friendly brogue taking on a darker tone.

Ames insisted, "It is a sacred relic, a tribute to our Ancestors. It is not a tool that you can take to pieces like you've done to the others. Tools are for digging in the dirt! This is too great for human hands."

Rodney gave Ames a disgusted look. "Hey, kid," he called. "You think you could show me where this thing is?"

"Ames built his home around it," Fernald said, pointing at the man.

"Why does that not surprise me?" McKay asked.

"It's in his back room," Fernald went on. "No one sees it, but he brought me there to fix the roof once. I saw it." The kid kept his eyes on Ames. "He told me to keep it a secret."

"Traitor!" Ames hissed, lunging at the kid, who flinched away.

Carson dug in as the Governor's assistant shoved at him.

"It is mine!" Ames insisted. "It has belonged to my family since the beginning of time! This is why we have kept it safe from prying eyes! You abuse our Ancestors! You spit in their faces by destroying their sacred relics!"

"Wait a minute. Aren't you the one who bartered away the precious ZPM that was given to you by the Ancestors?" McKay pressed.

"It was to save us! The Ancestors wanted us safe and I was trying to save us!" Ames insisted. "The Wraith promised not to harm us." He tried to get around Beckett, but the doctor had no intention of letting him pass. He turned to face his people. "Don't you see? They are the ones that have caused this destruction! If we'd only given them to the Wraith as we promised, our town would be whole. We would be safe!"

Incredulously, McKay stated, "They left a gas weapon behind for you. Sure, it's probably just going to paralyze you, but that's just about the same as 'dead' when the Wraith come calling."

Rodney grimaced as he shook his head, continuing, "But let's pretend that didn't happen. What about the tornado? I mean, come on, your town's in pieces because of a tornado, not because of anything we did. If you'd kept your ZPM…"

"You will not have our Star Finder!" Ames asserted. "We should have given you up to the Wraith. If we do that, the creatures will go. That's what the Wraith want. Certainly that tank can't harm us. I have seen only a strange hollow container." He looked beseechingly to his people, but they returned his entreaties with disbelieving stares.

Fernald, bowed his head, speaking softly, as if unsure if he were allowed to speak, "We never should have listened to you, Ames. I knew. I mean, I'm just a dumb kid and I knew it was a bad deal from the start. The Wraith are monsters. Who would make a deal with them?"

Beckett sighed, remembering another deal that had been made with the Wraith. "You're not a dumb kid, Fernald. You might be one of the smartest of the lot."

"Well, I wouldn't say THAT," McKay commented. "But he's definitely smarter than SOME. Is someone going to show me where it is?" he asked. He crooked a thumb over his shoulder, "Because it's not like we have all day."

With Ames still shoving to get past him, Beckett turned to give McKay a look. "Rodney, what do you think you're doing?" he quizzed.

Ames grumbled, "You're not going without me! It is my home! I have every right to be there!"

"Nobody's goin'!" Beckett insisted.

"Look, Carson," Rodney paused, and pointed to the object in Fernald's hands, "If that's what I think it is, I can't NOT go."

"Rodney, you can barely stay on your feet," Carson told him. "You're not going anywhere."

McKay closed his eyes a moment and took a deep breath. "This Star Finder of theirs, I'm betting it's another EMP weapon. A big one."

"Aye, I can see that'd be useful. Send Sheppard."

"I need to see if I can get it operational," McKay returned. "And Sheppard's checking out that dart. We still need to get a dart in the air if we're going to flip that Gate. Sooner we accomplish that the sooner we can leave. Meanwhile, someone has to check out this weapon."

"Well, you won't go without me," Beckett told him.

To that, McKay waggled a finger. "You're staying here," he insisted. "You need to watch over your …" he indicated Albion. "…patient, and you need to bring the shield back online after we're out. Oh, and let us back in after I've figured out that weapon. That would be good."

"I don't like it," Beckett told him.

"You don't have to like it," McKay countered. "And we don't have time to argue. The Wraith will be back any second. Give me your jacket."

Beckett frowned, realizing that Rodney had lost coat his earlier, and was running around shirtless – with nothing but bandages to protect him.

Rodney snapped his fingers impatiently.

Carson scowled at the gesture, but pulled off his jacket. "So, if we get a bigger EMP weapon, what does that mean?" he asked, as he helped Rodney into the coat. "You'll be able to knock even more of those machines from the air?"

Rodney smiled as he gingerly pulled the coat into place. "I'm thinking about going after the hive."

 

PART 12: RAMBLE  
"What the hell do you mean?" John shouted over the radio as he paused in his work at the dart. Teyla watched him as she continued to pull away the stalks of grain that had been twisted around the downed ship.

"I said… we're taking down the shield and coming out," Rodney replied.

"And here I thought you said something stupid," Sheppard snapped in return.

Rodney sighed. "Beckett will put the shield back up after we're out, so everyone will be safe. I've even shown him how to install the backup battery and have reasonable confidence that he can manage it. I mean, as much confidence as I can have."

Furious, Sheppard shouted, "There is NO reason for you to go outside of the shield. I don't care how much you want to come play with the big boys, Rodney, you need to remain…"

McKay cut him off, saying, "You know that gun you're enjoying so much? There is, quite possibly, a bigger one out there and we just need to find it."

Sheppard paused, considering this possibility. Oh, he thought, this could be good. "Ronon will get it," he responded. "He's been itching to get his hands on one."

He heard the Satedan make a quiet 'heh' over the airwaves. The man and his team were still somewhere between their dart and the shield's dome. John automatically looked for him in the mix of downed darts, smoke plumes, wrecked buildings and the waving wheat.

The unpleasant humidity made the weather almost unbearable.

"Stay put, McKay," Sheppard ordered.

"I have to check it out," Rodney told him.

"Ronon will get it and bring it to you," Sheppard repeated. "You are not leaving the…" He felt his face go hot with anger when he saw the dome disintegrate. "Rodney!"

"Did I mention it was bigger than the weapon you have? Should I specify 'much' bigger?"

"How much bigger?" Ronon inquired, sounding very interested.

"Not even YOU could carry it," Rodney replied.

Sheppard considered this. "What are you thinking it'll do, McKay?"

"If it is what I believe it is," And here Rodney paused, and Sheppard wasn't sure if he was catching his breath or if the jackass was doing it for dramatic purposes. "I think it could take out the Hive."

Ronon made another sound, a satisfied sounding utterance, then said happily, "I'll get it."

"Someone with the gene needs to activate it," McKay pointed out.

"Fine," Sheppard answered. "I'll check it out. This dart isn't going anywhere for a while. No telling how long it's going to take to wake up from that EMP pulse."

"The dart could reactivate at any moment," Rodney reminded.

"Or it could take an hour," Sheppard told him. "At least that's what you told us earlier. Make up your mind and get back under the shield, McKay. I'm not kidding."

"Listen…I'll probably have to… some work on this thing." There was a pause as McKay drew a breath, and Sheppard couldn't help thinking how tired the man sounded. His usual quick flowing delivery had slowed to a dribble. "Some adjustments if nothing else."

Great, Sheppard thought as he moved away from the dart. Freaking fabulous. "You're not going alone," Sheppard told him.

"I have Fernando with me," Rodney responded. There was a muffled conversation, and McKay sighed, sounding annoyed. "I mean, I have FERNALD with me, and… apparently Ames."

"Isn't Ames the idiot who caused all this?"

"I couldn't do much about stopping him, Colonel. The man… the man has legs and just followed us."

"You couldn't make him stay?"

"I can hardly walk, Colonel," McKay responded, a frustrated whine creeping into his voice. Sheppard frowned at that statement, knowing the truth of it. "Don't expect me to strong-arm a man onto a church pew… and make him stay."

Beckett piped in, saying, "I'll get him to stay." He sounded confident, and downright dangerous.

"Don't waste your time, Carson!" McKay insisted. "Stay where you are and we'll keep moving."

"I'll say this again," Beckett commented, "I don't like this. Not one bit."

"Who said you had to like it?" McKay returned, starting to slur his words a little. "Someone… with the gene… has to do this."

"All right then. I'll go," Carson declared.

"Carson, knowing how you get along with tech, I think that might be a very bad idea." Rodney paused, and then added, "A very, very bad idea. Did I mention, bad?"

"Ach, but you left me in charge of the shield and this ridiculous battery and that horrid Wraith device is still here. What am I supposed to do with that if it starts acting up?"

"Christ, Carson! It won't do anything! I'm taking Ames with me so you don't have to worry about… that freak setting it off. As for leaving you there to take care of the shield, I had… no choice in the matter. Now, if there was a trained chimp available…"

Sheppard sighed, listening in on the argument.

"Don't make me come after you, Rodney! I'll do it!"

"Carson, you need to… to turn on the… the damn shield. I need to find the weapon."

Beckett made a frustrated sound over the radio, and the shield appeared again, forming up from the bottom to close over Beckett and the people of Colo, sealing them in like a snowglobe.

Finally getting a chance, John asked, "So…where is this big gun? How far do you have to go?"

"We're nearly there. It's just up the street here." Rodney seemed to be gasping as he walked. Sheppard shifted in his place. Hating this. Rodney kept rambling, "Well, street might not be the right word for this. Is it still called a street if the buildings are all gone? Maybe it's more of a 'road', huh? Is there a difference between 'street' and 'road'? A 'street' somehow needs building lining it, I think."

They had too many people outside the safety of the shield already, and Rodney was hardly in any shape to be running around in the open. And all McKay had for protection was a skinny kid and the guy who traded their city's greatest asset for a handful of magic beans.

"Ronon?" Sheppard called over the radio.

"I'm on it," the Satedan responded.

"Bring your team with you. Keep an eye on him," Sheppard ordered.

"Yeah," Ronon replied. That would be enough. Sheppard knew that Dex wouldn't let anything happen to their irksome, brilliant friend.

He checked in with Radcliff, ensuring that her team was still doing okay, that their work was progressing, that they were ready for the next attack – for certainly there would be another.

How long would they be able to push back the Wraith and escape unscathed? They'd been able to fight them so far. When would this dart perk up again? Would it be in time to flip the Gate and allow them to go home? If they were lucky… But, their luck sucked.

Sheppard watched the shimmering shield that protected Beckett and the townspeople, then glanced skyward, wondering when the next attack would commence.

"It is a good plan," Teyla stated suddenly.

He turned, a little surprised to find her so near. "Yeah," he finally stated. "Can't hurt to have a jumbo gun. If we can get that hive deactivated, we'll finally stand a chance."

Teyla nodded at his words, but didn't look convinced that he believed them. "It is a good plan," she said again. "And Rodney will be fine." She seemed to say it to convince herself as much as him.

The wind was picking up when the colonel picked up his EMP weapon. "Let's just make sure he has a fighting chance when those sons-of-bitches return."  
88888888888888888888888888  
Rodney moved, because he had to. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, letting Fernald lead the way. The kid had said that they weren't going far—just a short jaunt – three or four buildings away.

His conversation with Sheppard and the others just about did him in. It was easier to concentrate on walking without also needing to speak. It galled him to realize that he could hardly do both at the same time.

He kept his head down, squinting against the daylight even as the pelting rain returned. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his head, the stabbing pain across his shoulders, the aches just about everywhere. He felt disorientated, dizzy. His feet were like lead, and he had to concentrate on not tripping on the rubble.

Fernald was talking to him, but at that moment, Rodney's preoccupation was on moving, on reaching their target without passing out.

God, his head hurt.

When had walking become so hard? Even the rain seemed determined to pound him into the ground. The wind wanted to thwart his forward progress, it buffeted him, slowing his hard-gained steps.

He could vaguely hear Ames shouting at Fernald, waving his arms about in his argument. If Rodney turned his head to watch the frustrated man, he'd risk losing his last thread of balance, so he kept his head down, working hard to step over the broken bits of the town and to keep up with Fernald.

He carried the 'key' in his pocket, keeping it protected. The boy had his pack. Ames gestured wildly. Rodney felt as if he wanted to puke again. His lips felt numb. His face felt cold and hot at the same time. The rain hurt.

A song from childhood tormented him – just put one foot in front of the other, and soon you'll be walking 'cross the floor.

He didn't notice that Fernald had come to a sudden halt, that Ames had stopped his diatribe. He didn't see the shape until he ran headlong into it.

He stumbled backward and reacted by doing the only sensible thing. He tried to collapse to the ground and die.

Instead, the thing latched hold of him and kept him upright as the world spun. Everything lost color.

He closed his eyes, gasping. He promised himself he wouldn't puke. Please, I don't want to puke again. His stomach argued with him, telling him that it might be for the best. His throat said 'no'. His dry mouth really didn't care for the idea. His mind just wanted to take a vacation and leave all of this behind.

A roaring filled his ears. It was if he was caught up in a whirlwind, unable to escape the force of it.

Then, after a moment, the sensation passed and he found himself blinking at a familiar bone necklace. Slowly, squinting, he raised his head to find Ronon's face above his. The man looked downright alarmed – upset.

Damn… he'd just run headfirst into Conan the Barbarian. Smooth move, idiot.

Flustered, he staggered, getting his feet steady on the ground. He had trouble freeing his arms. He'd gotten entangled in Ronon somehow and he blushed in embarrassment. "Sorry," he muttered. "Wasn't looking…"

Ronon said nothing, his brow furrowing as McKay tried to step away.

Great… great. Now you've pissed off the beast.

Gulping a breath, Rodney tried with a little more force and was able to pry an arm loose. "Was in a hurry," he tried to explain. He turned, looking for Fernald, and cursed himself for the movement as the world spun again. He managed, somehow, to not fall into a puddle.

Fernald and Ames were standing a few steps back, looking anxious.

Private Huxley was suddenly beside him. The young medic from Nevada grasped his wrist. Maxwell's hand felt strangely warm against his skin as he took his pulse. 

Huxley had a strange way of pronouncing 'Nevada' – but Rodney couldn't recall how the kid said the name.

"Are you okay, Dr. McKay?" Huxley asked urgently.

"No," Rodney snarled. "But I really can't do anything about that, can I?"

"Dr. McKay," Huxley went on. "You really need to sit down." The young man looked up to Ronon. "He really needs to sit down. Now." The Private started fumbling with his med kit.

Great. Rodney tried to push forward again, but had somehow managed to become tangled up with Ronon again. Oh, the humiliation. The big Satedan stared down at him and Rodney, for the life of him, couldn't figure out what the man wanted out of him.

"We have to keep moving," Rodney insisted. "Look, if this mechanism is what it promises to be, we will be able to take down that hive before they send out any more troops. That'd be a good idea, wouldn't it, Bluto?"

Ronon turned to Fernald and demanded, "Where is it?" His voice low enough to shake rocks from the ground.

"Just over there," the kid insisted. "I told him, we just had to go a little way. It's right there." And he pointed to the blasted remnants of yet another building.

It was easier to move, Rodney realized as he trod his way toward the wreck. His own body didn't feel quite so heavy and the horrible swaying was gone. The only problem was that Ronon was annoyingly close to his side, and he hadn't yet managed to free his arm. It'd gotten looped over the big man's shoulder and there was no way of pulling it down on his own. He could easily hear the man's breathing and he didn't dare look to see Ronon's hard-set expression.

Oh, his head…. God, it felt like it was going to split open.

The rain splattered down in big drops, making him blink. It seemed like one moment he had closed his eyes and the next they had reached the device. Even covered with the broken bits of the building, McKay could make out the form of the weapon. Oh yes, yes. This was good.

As big as a rail gun, the EMP cannon seemed to peek out of the wreckage, toward the heavy clouds and the ether beyond.

Beautiful, Rodney thought, scanning the machine for damage as he reached out to touch it. A roof and some strange cloth were draped over it, but the big gun appeared undamaged.

He smiled. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, this would work. He might just be able to get them out of this mess. Maybe he wasn't going to screw them up and get them all killed.

So intent was he on the promising weapon, that he didn't even hear the high whine of the darts making their third attempt on the planet and the little ruined city.  
PART 13: TOPPLE  
The darts came screaming in again. Groaning with weariness of the situation, John lifted his EMP gun at another group of five.

He quickly targeted a ship and pulled the trigger. He tracked the dart as the weapon hesitated annoyingly and then fired. He'd never stop being amused and amazed at the way the device just shut off the ship, leaving it to stagger and then tumble the ground.

THUD!

He felt the impact as he shifted his position, waiting for the gun to recharge, as the darts screamed overhead.

Teyla covered him, firing upward with her P90. In the city, not far from the dome, Ronon's grenade launcher went off, punching a hole in a dart as it circled around in an attempt to strafe the shield.

The ship that followed it laid down a few good shots, but the dome held and the dart twisted out of the way, gone before Ronon could target it.

Near the Gate, Radcliff and her crew were firing at another dart, their P90s doing little to slow the ship. Apparently the pilots were braver now, or just tired of being peppered. The ship veered off, but kept returning for more abuse.

Sheppard checked the gauges on the EMP weapon's display. Irritated, he found that the gun was still charging.

Sheppard keyed his radio and asked, "How you doing, Radcliff?"

The lieutenant replied, "Holding on, sir."

"Keep it up," Sheppard told her. "Ronon, how are things where you are?"

"We're still here," was the Satedan's response as he knocked out another dart that spun and whined and piled into the ground outside of the town. The Satedan's accuracy was impressive, to say the least.

The maddening rain had splattered them for a minute, but it was gone again. The wind picked up. The weather seemed to be in constant turmoil and Sheppard couldn't wait to be out of it for good. But how much longer could they hold out?

Two darts remained from this latest attack, and they slowly circled – keeping their distance, looking a little too much like sharks for Sheppard's liking. And suddenly, the darts broke formation. One came back at the Gate. The other made a beeline for the shield.

"Damn it," Sheppard growled, lifting his weapon to target the ship that rushed toward the town, knowing the shield wouldn't withstand a pulse from his weapon.

The air erupted with the darts' weapon fire, accompanied by the throaty boom of Ronon's grenade launcher. P90's barked. A bright flash flared from the darts as the attacked both the Gate and the dome.

Sheppard heard shouting over the radio. Beckett's voice sounded, trying to keep the people within the dome calm; Ronon barked at his group; Radcliff and Woodward were screaming.

One ship, plugged with holes, skittered, turned and the spun into the ground. The other, near the Gate, fired, then turned and gained altitude, returning to take another pop at the Gate.

Growling in anger, Sheppard raised the EMP weapon and caught the dart as it came around. It shuddered as the pulse hit, and went into an uncontrolled glide as it fell, crashing with a KA-whump! John smiled grimly, shaking out the numbness in his arm.

Beckett was calling to the people in the dome, telling them everything was going to be all right. McKay was complaining and Ronon responding in one word phrases. Nothing was heard from Radcliff and Woodward.

John turned to Teyla. She stood beside him, tense, clutching her P90, ready to fire if anything came into range. Her eyes were sharp, and almost cruel.

"Radcliff! Lieutenant Radcliff? Woodward?" Sheppard shouted over the radio. There was no response to his cries. "Kelley! Randall!" And nothing.

Teyla took a step closer. Gilbert and Clemmon moved in and they stood together, a small group in the open field.

"Damn… damn…" Sheppard cursed. "Goddamn it. Ronon?"

"We're fine," Ronon responded.

"Beckett?"

"A bit shaken up, but the shield appears to be holding," Carson said, sounding spent. "People are calming. No worse for the wear."

"Great." He gazed in the direction of the downed Gate, where two of his people and two of the Colo had stood their ground. "We're going to check on Radcliff and the others," Sheppard stated, frowning at the weapon in his hands. Fat lot of good it did when they were out of range. They started moving toward the Gate. "How's McKay coming along with the super weapon?"

An irritated voice joined the others, "McKay is doing the best he can, considering the circumstances. My assistant dove for cover under the … equipment and doesn't know a screwdriver from a … scanning device. I'm doing JUST FINE."

Sheppard didn't like the pauses in Rodney's conversation. There seemed to be no real strength in the words. He wanted to tell Ronon to keep an eye on the scientist, but he knew there was no need to voice anything. He knew Ronon too well.

"He giving you trouble, Ronon?" Sheppard asked instead as he hurried through the field with Teyla and the others behind him.

"Yeah," Ronon responded.

"I… I am not!" McKay shot back. "I'll have you know that I am … attempting to… to get this… thing… operational again and…" There was a pause and Sheppard halted, looking in the direction of the town. "…it's not easy!"

Sheppard recommenced his path, covering the distance to the Gate – double time. "We'll let you know when we reach the Gate."

"Ah, Colonel, shouldn't you be staying by the dart?" McKay asked.

"Shouldn't you be staying inside the dome?" Sheppard challenged.

"Not if we want to take out the Hive," he sniped. "I'm not going to be able to… fix this device from in there. Really, you should stay at the dart in case it regenerates and regains power."

"I need to check on our people," Sheppard pointed out.

"Oh," McKay replied. "Yeah. Good idea."

"Glad you agree. Sheppard out." And they kept moving.

A glance to Teyla told him that she already knew what they'd find. Her fine features were set like flint, as if she were already preparing herself for the horror. He felt sorry for Gilbert and Clemmon. All things considered, he would have preferred to leave them with the dart, but the Colos were ill-prepared to face the Wraith on their own.

"Valeria and Luther are with them," Gilbert stated breathlessly as he kept up. "Do you think they're all right?"

Sheppard didn't answer. He kept glancing at the sky, keeping the steady strict pace. Teyla turned toward Gilbert, her face giving nothing away.

"We can hope," Clemmon said softly, touching her brother's arm.

Gilbert huffed, keeping up, but all hope fled from his expression as he quietly stated, "This is awful. I don't know how Ames is going to live with himself."  
88888888888888888888888888  
"Do you got it figured out?" Ronon asked, staying near the scientist as he worked.

"Give me a moment, would you? Should be child's play," McKay said, tiredly.

"Child's play, huh? Just a big toy?" Ronon asked.

"Toy?" Ames echoed angrily. "How dare you call this gift a toy!"

"A toy for Ronon, maybe." McKay sounded testy. "For the rest of us, it just might be our ticket out of this place."

"It'll stop the hive," Ronon stated, reiterating something McKay had told him before.

"Yes, it'll shut the hive down. And with no more hive, there'll be…"

"No more darts."

"You got it. They're all connected. It should short-circuit the little bastards, overload their sensors and turn them off in one fell swoop," McKay smiled, looking a little numb.

"Swoop?" Ronon repeated, alarmed.

"What?"

"You said something about the ships swooping down on us."

"No, no… I didn't. Why did you think that?"

Ronon regarded the man. "Why'd you say 'swoop'?" he tried.

"I didn't. Look, I just need to … you know, get up on the device… and I should be able to… figure it out. Just have to … finish here and then check out the control chair."

"Need a boost?"

"No, no boost, no swoop. I have to finish the connections… here. And see if I can make this thing work without blowing us all up in the process…"

Ronon furrowed his brow deeply.

McKay tried to reword, "Not that I expect it to blow up or anything."

"Just fix it," Ronon told him. He didn't relax for a moment. He scanned the sky constantly, waiting for the darts to make another appearance. The Colo in his team -- Shipley and Sheldahl -- had helped McKay and Fernald uncover the weapon, pulling down the smashed roof, and then picking off the strange bits of cloth that covered it. Now, they patrolled nearby, holding their rifles as if they could do any real damage against the darts.

Huxley stood, ready, glancing from Ronon to McKay. Fernald kept at McKay's side, ready to help. 

Ames hovered, looking glum and uncomfortable. Ronon didn't like him.

Dex kept track of them. He knew where each was at all times, as he kept his gaze on the sky.

He sidled closer to McKay and the weapon. "Will it work?" he asked in a low voice.

"How the hell should I know?" McKay snapped. "It's been sitting here for… 10,000 years. By the looks of it, someone's been using it to dry their … laundry."

"It isn't laundry," Ames defended darkly. "It was draped with ceremonial buntings." Ronon glared at the man – liking him less and less.

"Buntings," McKay grumbled. "Great. Fabulous." He shook as he brushed a hand across his brow. "Great place for buntings. I mean, really. Buntings? Isn't that the sort of thing you usually see in parades or political rallies?"

There was a time when the scientist's strange outbursts annoyed Ronon. Now, they'd become a reassurance to him. If McKay made fun of things, then everything would be fine.

But one glance at the man made it evident that things weren't fine. Pale, swaying, blinking – McKay was ready to drop. Ronon frowned, noting the dark blotches that were forming on the back of Rodney's borrowed jacket.

The scientist went on, "Buntings! What kind of crappy idea was that?"

Ames stepped closer, filled with righteous fervor. "I honor the Ancestors."

Ronon kept himself between the man and Rodney, and continued to scan the sky. The Colo was full of shit. He spoke crap and Ronon was tired of hearing it. Given the opportunity, the Satedan would shut him up permanently.

"Honor?" McKay yelped as he worked. "You honor them by misusing an important tool… by messing with something that you don't understand. You allowed the Wraith to bring poison into your town and… meanwhile, you've chucked out the best thing the Ancestors could have possibly given you? Is that how you honor your ancestors?"

"You don't understand," Ames said, lowering his voice.

"Buntings, for Christ's sake!" Rodney paused, resting his head against the device.

McKay was damn sick, but he was the only one who could fix machine. It wasn't as if Ronon of Sateda could lend a hand. "Forget the buntings, McKay. Just get it working," he stated, trying to put McKay back on plan.

"Buntings," Rodney sighed.

"How is everything goin' out there?" Beckett suddenly asked in his ear.

"Fine," Ronon responded quickly. He glanced to McKay and saw a quick, conspiratorial smile flicker across his otherwise pallid face. "Buntings are annoying McKay."  
"Come again?"

"We're busy here," McKay explained in a put upon voice. "Busy. Plenty to do. Not interested in interruptions."

"Play nice, McKay," Sheppard responded next. 

"Colonel!" Beckett called. "Have you reached them?"

We're about halfway to the Gate. We'll let you know what we find."

"Have any more darts come 'round?" Becket inquired. "That last attack seemed the worst we've seen so far."

"Sky's clear," Ronon told him, trying to ignore the angry looking clouds. "For now."

"So, more are coming?" Beckett continued to probe.

McKay replied bluntly, "They'll come by the dozens next time. You think these last couple of attacks were bad? Just you wait."

"We'll take care of 'em," Ronon resolved.

McKay looked at him as if he'd said something stupid.

"Right then," Beckett commented, and then, "Right."

Ronon watched the sky. 

McKay glanced up, squinting. "It's time to check it out from the control seat." He stumbled and missed his mark as he tried to get his boot into the high step. "Now if I can just…"

Not changing his gaze, Ronon grasped hold of the physicist's arm and gave him a shove as he clambered up. 

"Hey! What are you trying to do? Kill me? I bruise easily, you know."

McKay seemed to have no coordination at all. The man was never nimble, but even with Ronon supporting half his weight, McKay could hardly get into the proper position to settle into the seat.

"Okay, okay, I got it. Fine! Stop pushing!"

At least he was finally sitting, and less likely to topple over.

Ames moved about discontentedly. Ronon spared him only a glance, frowning at the man's behavior. Annoyed, he realized that he could no longer keep himself between Ames and Rodney. Up on that seat, McKay was in full view.

McKay fussed about at the machine, mumbling and prattling on about the device. Usually, even when he muttered, the scientist's words bit sharply, but now the comments were muffled and distorted, then turned mournful.

"Is it working?" Ronon asked, tersely.

"No," the response sounded very disappointed, and too quiet. More clicking followed. "Oh, come on," McKay whined pitifully. "Power up already! Why isn't this working? It should. I… I don't know what else to do. I just…"

Beside him, Fernald cleared his throat. "Ah, what about the key?"

There was a pause, and Ronon, without even looking at him, could imagine McKay's expression as he digested what Fernald had just said. "Yes," McKay finally exclaimed. "The key…why… why didn't I think of that?" The comment had an exasperated, hurt sound to it. "Stupid of me to forget. If I just insert they key into …"

"Don't!" Ames shouted.

"Don't what?" McKay shot back.

Ronon lowered his gaze from the sky. Ames had moved a few steps back, and as the wind picked up. His yellowish coat billowed about him. "Don't," Ames said again, his voice low and ominous, his eyes fixed on Rodney.

"Don't what?" McKay repeated; his tone was incredulous, and Ronon didn't chance a look at him.

"This is not a weapon," Ames insisted. "This is no toy. This is a gift from the Ancestors!"

"Yes, a gift. You got that right," McKay responded. "Why don't you use it? You don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"You will not do this," Ames stated, the threat evident in his voice.

"Oh," McKay told him. "I will. Just watch me." Ronon heard McKay move something, press something else. The mechanism came to life. It hummed. It moved, jostling Rodney as the position of the seat changed. "Ah!" McKay exclaimed happily.

"You will not do this!" Ames insisted. "You shame us! You shame everyone!"

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

"Those that shame the Ancestors will be punished!" Ames spat out.

Ronon saw Ames' long jacket flap open.

Clinging one left-handedly to the grenade launcher, Ronon flipped his blaster from his hip with his other hand. He saw the determined set of the Colo's face; he saw the revolver coming clear; he saw the weapon lift toward the vulnerable scientist– toward Rodney, who was too sick to even realize what was happening.

Ronon knew, without a doubt, Ames would kill McKay.

He wasn't going to let that happen. And Ronon was quicker than Ames.

Ronon aimed and fired.

The Satedan weapon, readied to take down a Wraith, cut the shocked Colo in two. The burned bits that were once Ames fell wetly to the ground – the upper half toppled first. The legs remained upright for a moment longer before they pitched beside the head-and-shoulders. If put back together, Ames would have been a foot shorter.

There was surprisingly little blood.

Around him, the little group stood, stunned. Huxley turned a little pale. Shipley and Sheldahl gasped and stared. Fernald skittered around the machine, putting it between himself and the big Satedan.

Ronon returned his blaster to his holster.

When Ronon glanced to McKay, he saw only a strange expression of regret, as if Rodney actually felt badly for what had happened to Ames. The scientist blinked and rubbed his eyes, and the expression was gone. He went back to work.

PART 14: MOTTLE COLLIE  
Sheppard jogged to the Gate, hurrying even though he knew it was too late.

The DHD was visible over the fields of smoldering wheat-like grain. There was no sign of the people that should have been there as well. Sheppard increased his speed as they trekked up a slight slope and came to an abrupt halt. He stalled Clemmon and Gilbert with a movement of his arm.

For a moment, he stood there, observing the scene. Teyla came alongside him, pressing close, but neither looked at each other. 

The wind blew in the wrong direction, otherwise the scent of burned flesh would have reached them first. Charred, and almost indistinguishable from each other, four bodies lay haphazardly in the blasted area. All around them, the wheat was burned to stubble.

Nobody spoke immediately as they took in the sobering scene. The wind kept up, buffeting their backs.

Finally, Clemmon broke the silence, sighing softly, "Oh, Valeria. Poor Luther." She drew a deep breath and then asked, "Why did the Wraith do this? Why did they 'kill'? It's not like the Wraith to destroy a lifeforce that they might have fed from."

"They are angry," Teyla responded softly. "They did not expect resistance. They did not expect to take such losses."

"Revenge," Sheppard commented, his face kept taut. "Revenge rarely makes much sense."

He stepped forward, his movements were quick as he closed the distance to hunch over one body. The blackened uniform and weapon told him it was one of the Atlaneans. He found the dogtags, and removed one carefully. Lt. Kelley Radcliff, he noted as he clutched the identifier.

She liked birds. On every planet she visited, her eyes were always on the trees or searching the skies for things in flight. She kept a journal of what she found, drawing surprisingly good renditions of avian life in Pegasus. He hoped she had a chance to see the black birds of Colo up close. She probably would have thought they were beautiful.

She told him once about her macaw. She'd picked it up somewhere, 'used'. It would say things like, "Wicked pisser," and "Swim Faster, Eddie!" and "Iowa Sucks". She never did figure out where it learned those phrases.

It was a big messy bird that made too much noise, threw its damned seeds everywhere, pooped all over the place, and never let her sleep in on the weekends. She pined for that bird every day, and drew pictures of anything with wings.

Sheppard straightened, smoothing down the fabric of his uniform and moved to the next form.

Woodward was still clutching his weapon. Dedicatedly, Sheppard removed his dogtag as well. Randall was a musician. He loved brass instruments, especially the trumpet. He'd been in the Marine Band. Had played for the President.

He'd been in a garage band in his youth, a band with a 'kicking horn line', something along the lines of 'Chicago or 'Tower of Power'. He had been trying to put together some sort of a group on Atlantis, but could never get the right talents for the type of music he wanted to play.

It didn't stop him from trying.

Sheppard clutched the two tags as he gazed at his people. He wished he could give Kelley Radcliff leave to see her parents and that big messy Iowa-hating bird. Wished Randall Woodward might have been able to put that band together and play the hell out of the music he loved.

He remained near them, standing at attention, wishing he could do more for them.

Gilbert hung back, staring at the bodies of his friends, his eyes wide and sorrowful. It was Clemmon that stepped forward, pulling off her jacket and draping it over the face of one of the Colo. She wrapped the jacket around the body, as if she were tucking a child into bed.

"Gilbert," she called and reached out her hand.

He looked at her, his expression lost. "What?" he asked hollowly. "What do you want?"

"Your coat," she said softly. "For Luther."

Gilbert quickly shucked off his jacket and held it out to his sister, but seemed unable to move forward.

Clemmon was forgiving and walked the few steps to reach him. She paused as she took the jacket. They shared a glance, and then she turned to the other body and covered its face as well, being careful to secure the fabric against the wind.

That done, she stood back and looked to Sheppard. "What do we do now?" she asked.

Sheppard had moved closer to the toppled Gate, to see how far the group had progressed. They'd tunneled under the heavy device, creating a trench and had passed the cables through. He nodded thoughtfully at their clever thinking.

It looked as if the cabling was complete. They'd done a good job, harnessing up the Gate and getting it ready for the big flip. The work looked as if it might actually hold – as if someone had some mechanical skill. He wondered which of the four had provided the necessary knowledge. He knew little about them, outside of Radcliff's love of birds and Woodward's for his horn. He knew that were good soldiers.

Certainly Valeria and Luther had passions and skills.

He was proud of them.

Glancing to Teyla, he noted the stance of the Athosian. She stood alone, away from the rest, her expression bleak. Her brow knitted as if she suffered from a headache.

Beckett's hope-filled voice called over the radio, "Colonel, have you made it to the site? Are they all right?"

"We're here," Sheppard responded to the first question. Then, after a pause, he added, "They didn't make it."

"Oh," Beckett responded, putting so much sorrow into that word, so much regret.

"Nothing you could have done if you were with us, Doc," Sheppard tried to soothe as he gazed toward the corpses. "Nothing anyone could have done."

"Aye," was all Beckett said in return.

Sheppard blew out a breath, and asked, "How's the weapon coming, McKay?"

"Huh?"

The weapon, were you able to get it operational?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just… I was able to … fix it, but it's going to take a while to fire up. The power... It's not… It's not good."

Sheppard frowned, moving a few steps from the scene, not wanting to linger among the dead. "What do you mean?"

"This thing takes a lot of power," McKay told him, his voice quieter than it should be.

His frown deepening, Sheppard asked, "There's not enough to get it working?"

"Not that," McKay replied. "It's… it's just that it hasn't been used in 10,000 years so it's… it's going to take a little while to boot up."

"Sounds like my first computer," Sheppard stated, listening carefully to his friend's voice.

"Did I mention power? It's a lot of power."

"Yeah, you said that." Sheppard listened carefully to his friend, not liking what he was hearing.

It was Teyla that spoke up beside him, "Do you believe the Wraith will be able to see the power signature from the Hive."

"Probably not until we're locked onto them, but when we do, it should light up the hive's systems … like a Christmas tree. Ah… oh wait… You probably don't know… Christmas Tree is a… tree… with lots of lights. Wait… there was one in the Mess last year. So… it would be like that… well, really just one big light. Like a spotlight. More like a spotlight than a Christmas tree. You know what a spotlight is, don't you?"

"Rodney?" Sheppard tried to break in.

"Maybe a searchlight is a better analogy. Remember seeing searchlights when you were a kid…colonel? Off in the distance? Always thought that they meant something important…As if there was something great out there… only needed to track it down. I… I always felt like I needed to be there… to be part of it… but they… the searchlights… they usually were just for the… grand opening of a… new car dealership or something. But I wanted to… ah…oh…" The last sound seemed lost in pain.

Sheppard stiffened at the sound, wishing he was there.

"McKay…" Ronon spoke, his voice more concerned than annoyed.

"Right … right. Yes, the Wraith will know when they've been… targeted."

"Aim fast," Sheppard told him, grimacing and hating this.

"You do realize there's a… a... delay, right?" McKay countered. "You think it's a long pause for your… puny little gun. Think about what it'll take to… fire this baby."

"Yeah," Sheppard said glumly. "We'll just have to manage."

"I can help," Teyla put in. She rested a hand on Sheppard's arm. Her helpless look was gone. "I can assist."

"How?" Sheppard responded, curious.

Teyla looked skyward, and said confidently, "I will distract them."  
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"What does she mean… distract them?" McKay asked, keeping his gaze on the weapon's display screen as he adjusted the controls.

Ronon shrugged. "She's got that connection with them. I figure she'll use that somehow."

"Oh," McKay replied. "Yeah." He closed his eyes, looking annoyed for not knowing that. He hunched his shoulders. "Play a little hocus-pocus on them? A little misdirection and sleight of hand? Hmmm…" He closed his eyes tightly, pressing the lids together as if to force away his obvious pain.

With a frown Ronon noticed the dark patches were lengthening on his jacket. Rodney wasn't going to last much longer like this. The Satedan let out a soft growl, feeling frustrated in his inability to help.

McKay raised his gaze for a moment, glancing toward him, but returned his attention to the machine before their eyes met, his mouth set in a tight line.

Fernald kept his distance from Dex, and edged away. Shipley had done what he could to cover up the mess that was left of Ames, but Sheldahl seemed ready to leave the man in two pieces in the street and wouldn't help him move them. 

Huxley glanced from McKay to Ronon, his expression confirming Ronon's suspicion regarding the scientist.

"McKay," Ronon called, moving closer when Rodney didn't respond.

"What?" McKay replied, attempting to sound irritated, but the feeling was lost in the softness of his voice.

"Can you do this?" Ronon asked.

"Of course I can," McKay responded. He was leaning forward in the weapon's seat, his eyes closed, resting his head against the edge of the display. "I have to."

"You boys about ready?" Sheppard asked over the radio.

McKay blinked blearily. "According to the readout we have about ten more minutes," he stated. "Can't try it until it's… fully charged. Should… should give us enough power for one good shot. Might not have another though."

"Why don't we try it at partial charge?" Sheppard asked. "It'd be better than nothing, and sooner is usually better."

With a grimace, McKay responded, "Because we're taking out a Hive ship that's outside of the planet's atmosphere! We can't do this halfway."

Great," Sheppard replied. "We're heading back toward the dart. Hey, how's this going to affect the ship?"

"What?"

"The ship we've staked out. You said that this big gun of yours is going to knock everything out of the sky. Doesn't that mean we'll be S.O.L. if we try to fire up our dart?"

McKay said nothing immediately, he just breathed hard as clung to the display of the weapon, closing his eyes again as he thought.

"McKay?" Sheppard prompted.

"Yeah, you said it …" McKay started, "It'll knock out everything that's moving." He was taking on a truly unhealthy hue. Ronon moved closer, jammed one boot into the foothold of the weapon, ready to climb it.

There was a pause, then Sheppard started, "So, if something is already out of commission…"

"Shouldn't… shouldn't affect it. Not charged up. Shouldn't affect the reset."

"Shouldn't?"

McKay licked his lips and nodded his head against the screen. "Can't say for sure… but I think… I think that'll be the case."

"What about the shield?"

"Oh," McKay said. "We're not aiming at that. Shouldn't be an issue."

There was another pause, longer than the one before. "How much time left?"

"What did I say just a minute ago?"

"Ten minutes?"

"Nine then. There're nine minutes left."

"Just hang in there, Rodney. We're almost done." Sheppard sounded apologetic. And then, "In a couple minutes, Teyla's going to make contact. Nice and easy though, right?"

"Teyla," Beckett's voice came on, sounding frustrated, "You best be careful. I'm not there to look after things. And Rodney, I don't like how you're sounding. I don't think you should be…"

"I know!" McKay bit back. "I know. You don't like how I sound. Fine. Don't listen!" He blinked at the display, trying to look competent. "As soon as we get this done, I'll put in for… for a vacation." He poked at the screen, adjusting the machine, preparing it.

Ronon watched him, keeping an eye on his charge. The man seemed to be wobbling, hardly able to sit up in the seat.

"Rodney," Beckett said, a pleading tone to his voice. "Let me know how you're feelin'. It'd help me to…"

"I feel like crap. Does that help?" The machine responded to his commands, turning about, changing its angle.

"Rodney" Beckett continued doggedly, "I'm not there to check on you. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's goin' on."

"Glad you're not here. Don't think I could… could handle…you trying to mottle collie me."

"What was that?" Beckett returned.

"Mottle col – wait… wait… model call…MOLLY! Molly-coddle. Give me a break. It's hard enough just trying to… get this thing working without… remembering all the right words and… fending off your…" His voice cut off with a sharp intake of breath.

Rodney paused, blinking. He looked totally confused and his head dipped. His face lost what little color remained.

"McKay," Ronon called softly.

The scientist turned to him, lost. "I don't feel so good," he said apologetically, his voice drifting to nothing as his eyes rolled back. He went limp, bonelessly toppling to one side.

Ronon moved quickly, grasping tightly to the side of the machine with one hand as he stepped up, catching McKay before he slid entirely out of the seat and saving him from falling headfirst to the ground below.

"Gotcha," he said softly.

He adjusted Rodney's weight as he stepped down, careful of McKay's back as he maneuvered the unconscious man free of the seat. The ground beneath them was littered with debris. This was no place for Rodney.

Ronon lifted the Canadian over the broken building to a safe little alcove in all the chaos, and lowered him, curling him into the protected space. Rodney was shuddering.

The humid weather hadn't lifted, but McKay felt cold. Ronon pulled off his coat and draped it over the man, hoping to warm him. Huxley was suddenly at his side, unclipping his med bag from his belt to rifle through its contents. Ronon stood, getting out of the medic's way.

Over the radio, Ronon could make out Beckett and Sheppard shouting, asking questions about what the hell just happened.

"McKay's down," he finally stated, silencing them for a moment.

Beckett declared, "I'm coming. I'll take down the shield and surely someone here can…"

"Carson, don't you touch that shield," Sheppard shot back. "They've got Huxley with them. Private?"

"Yes sir," Huxley responded brightly. "I'm with Dr. McKay now. I'll see to him."

"Report when you know something. I'm coming to your location," Sheppard declared. "We might need someone with the gene to fire that big gun. Let's not take any chances."

Ronon stood over Rodney, leaning against a broken roof support and watched the physicist's colorless face. Rodney's eyes fluttered open for a moment. His eyes darted, looking unnaturally blue against his pallid skin. He looked up, taking a moment to find Ronon.

Rodney softly whispered, "Sorry. Tell them…" His eyes closed again and continued to tremble.

Huxley might have been a fine medic, but it was obvious that McKay needed real help – he needed Beckett.

Beside him, something flickered and Dex turned, spinning his weapon into his hand. The remaining Colo backed away, watching in surprise as the domed shield flickered, flashed and suddenly went out.

Surprised, he let the weapon drop to his side.

He could hear the din of the shocked townspeople, even though he couldn't quite see them through the wreck of the town.

"Beckett!' Sheppard bellowed. "What did I tell you?! Get that goddamn thing back up!"

"It wasn't me that did it!" Beckett insisted, his voice frantic and high. "I swear to you, it turned itself off. The power must've given way! I didn't notice it was…"

"Get that backup battery working!"

"Right… right… I…"

"Beckett, do it!"

"You know that I don't get along well with this sort of technology, don't you? Colonel, the shield is down. Rodney's just a wee distance from here. I should…"

Teyla's voice broke into the conversation, her tone urgent, "There is no time," she declared. "They are preparing for another attack."

"How many?" Sheppard asked, his voice hard.

"Many," Teyla told him.

"Beckett! Get that shield online. Ronon. Get on that damn gun. See if it responds."

Ronon leaned down to give McKay a pat on the shoulder, then handed the grenade launcher to Huxley. He swung himself up and onto the EMP weapon as the sky darkened around them.

PART 15: BRAMBLE  
"Just install the backup battery," Beckett muttered as he fussed with device McKay had created. "Aye, as easy as that. Just install it and bring the shield back online. Couldn't be simpler." The bitter edge of his voice was evident.

Around him, the Colo, in their terror, had crowded close, huddled together around the shield device.

He'd been surprised by the wind; he had grown used to being sheltered from it. The sky seemed dark as he labored on the shield device, and he was grateful for the press of Colo near him – they, at least, created a windbreak.

He gave the nearby Wraith device an unhappy glance, imagining paralytic agents and the awful possibilities if that thing went off. It had rankled him to have the device with them all this time, but he understood the necessity for it. Beneath the shield was the safest place for it, but now that there was no dome to protect them.

Of course, if the thing went off, there was probably no safe place anywhere in the vicinity. They'd all be knocked out and left helpless to the Wraith.

He put that at the back of his mind as he continued working.

His hands were sure and steady as he worked at the fleshy Wraith power source, wincing as if he expected an electrical shock for his efforts. Nothing.

He thought of muscle, nerves and arteries instead of electric wiring. It made the process more familiar.

The Wraith power source felt 'dead' to him as he pulled it free, like an organ that was no longer vital. He settled it beside him and retrieved the makeshift battery pack. Thankfully, Rodney had completed the pre-work.

'Look, it's so easy even a halfwit could do it,' Beckett remembered Rodney's words. 'You just need to hook this wire here – and this one will go here. Connect this over there. Don't mix them up. And do you see these wires? Do not – I repeat, DO NOT allow these wires to come in contact with any part of the machine except the connections that I'm indicating here and there – but not here. Do you get it?'

"Yes, Rodney," Beckett whispered as he recalled the education. "I get it." Dear God, he hoped that annoying astrophysicist would be all right. The last transmission from Rodney had troubled him deeply. Now, he knew, they had to get through this -- get through it quickly so that he could get out of here and go check on the irritating man.

He worked quickly, as the wind buffeted his hair, bringing his 'do to new and strange heights. He hoped that the Wraith took their bloody time in preparing the darts for attack. Nervously, he ran the back of a hand through his hair, forcing it down. 

He prayed that he was connecting the device up correctly.

Technology hated him.

The Colo were counting on him to save them. His friends needed him to get the shield up – to protect the Wraith device -- to protect the Colo so that they wouldn't have to trouble themselves over the natives. He wouldn't let them down.

Beckett flinched as he connected another wire, expecting the worst. It would be just like him to blow up this device and set off the other along with it.

One more connection to go. "Let's hope this works," he muttered.  
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The Athosian settled herself in the tall grass, folding her legs beneath her. She took a deep breath and released it slowly as she closed her eyes and opened her mind.

"I will make contact now," she proclaimed.

"Okay," Sheppard responded, and took her P90. He passed it on to Gilbert. "Be careful," he told her in a quiet voice. "Back out if you feel that they've discovered you."

She smiled, just a small wan expression. "I have learned," she responded. "I will not make direct contact with the Wraith minds."

With a frown, the colonel asked, "How you plan to do that?"

Confidently, she told him, "I will link with the hive ship."

She reached out. It wasn't difficult to find the collective intelligence of the Wraith. It closed in around her like dense bramble. She felt them, their urgency, their hatred, their lust for destruction. The darts would not come in fives. They would attack in force this time.

They were hurrying, readying themselves for a final assault. She felt the certitude swelling within their consciousness. They were dedicated to what they felt -- what they knew was right. They were betrayed. They would seek vengeance. They would annihilate everything that stood in their path.

And for a moment, she was caught up in that emotion, feeling the power behind their beliefs, the conviction in their mission. They had been wronged. The humans would pay.

She drew in a deep draught of air, feeling their power, their strength in numbers, knowing the perfection of their society. They worked as one, they lived as one, there was strength in their unity.

A tremble ran through her. She felt like a creature lost in a vast wood.

She blew out the breath, pushing through their thoughts as one might move through a forest, stepping carefully over moss-velvet earth, slipping past saplings, pressing branches to allow her passage. She moved quickly and easily through the crush, finding her way without breaking a branch, without severing the smallest leaf from its stem. She moved, not leaving a trace, not alerting any of them to her presence.

She found her way back to a place she'd known before, flitting past minds that blared orders, sliding past others that echoed the thoughts onward.

She found the command center of the hive, alive with activity. She located the controls, remembering how they'd responded to her before when she guided a different hive ship home. She found the heart of the ship itself, ignoring the minds around her. She found the sensors, and there she waited.  
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Ronon studied the controls of the big weapon, recognizing their similarity to the smaller EMP gun that Sheppard carried. It would be easy to figure out and he smiled at the prospect of firing something so powerful.

He found his target on the display. The 'star finder' might not have been a telescope but it definitely could locate objects in space.

There was no doubting the shape in the display. The sight of the hive ship made Ronon itch to destroy it. He rubbed his hands together, as he studied the readouts.

"Teyla's ready when you are," Sheppard announced over the radio.

A read-out showed mostly green with a segment of red at the top. "We're almost there," Ronon stated, hopefully.

"Great," Sheppard replied. "How much longer you think?"

Ronon frowned. How should he know? He glanced down to McKay, in the little alcove. The scientist could tell him. Only the constant shuddering revealed Rodney was still alive.

"Ronon?" Sheppard pressed. "How long?"

Ronon narrowed his eyes at the display, examining the graph that McKay had been checking earlier. "It's got about a fingernail to go."

"What does that mean?" Sheppard returned sharply. "How many minutes?"

"I don't know," Ronon growled, understanding why McKay would get so upset with the colonel at times.

Something flickered, instantly catching his attention. Ronon turned in time to see the shield return over the Meeting Hall – much smaller than before. It sputtered and fuzzed and went away after a moment.

"Hang on, hang on," Beckett muttered. "I think that's it. Crowd closer everyone."

Ronon and his group watched as the shield flickered again.

"Almost there," Beckett declared.

Teyla's voice came on next, her tone dreamlike and unconnected. "They are coming," she announced.

Ronon gritted his teeth, wishing McKay would wake up, wishing the man could tell him what to do. He returned his gaze to the display and stared at the line of red that remained on the chart. "Let's do it," he declared.  
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"Now," Sheppard ordered, laying a hand on Teyla's shoulder, hoping she took that as her signal that it was time.

The unmistakable whine of the Wraith darts sounded. Sheppard spun to face them. "Crap!" he hissed as the needlelike ships came through the brackish clouds – a dozen, two dozen, more. He had no time to count them.

Sheppard lifted his weapon. "Now, Ronon! NOW!"

John fired, targeting, not the lead dart in the group, but one that flew slightly above the leader. The weapon hesitated, as it always did, but he'd learned how to time it. The weapon made that soft 'huff' sound, numbing his arm. The ship was silenced. It wobbled then glided directly onto the one below.

The darts collided, smashing down from the sky, taking out another that followed too closely and scattering the rest behind it. 

He chanced a glance toward the town as he picked up his P90 with one hand, leaving the EMP weapon at his feet to recharge. "Ronon!"

"I hit the trigger!" Ronon insisted. "It's making noise. There are red symbols on the screen."

The hesitation – that damn hesitation. Why did the wonder-weapon have to have that half-ass attribute?

Ships screamed closer. Dammit, dammit. "Beckett! Get that damn shield up!" John shouted, just as the mauvey dome re-congealed with a 'wup'.

"I think that's it!" Beckett declared.

The shield shuddered for a moment, then held firm just as a pair of darts descended from the clouds.

"Oh… oh…bugger," Beckett whispered as the darts came right at them.

Sheppard's expression hardened as he continued firing at the darts that shrieked overhead, kept firing, not daring to look toward the shield. Silently, he prayed for Beckett's safety.

The concussion rattled the earth as two darts pile-drived directly into the shield. The ships sparked and shattered, rending the metal and tossing bits and pieces everywhere, sending up smoke and a choking stench.

The dome held.

Thank God, Sheppard thought. Oh, thank God.

He hoped that Ronon had ducked. His group was far too close to the collision. "Ronon?" he called.

From near the EMP cannon, the grenade launcher was firing.

"Ronon!" he tried again.

"What?" Dex snapped.

"Just checking," Sheppard responded, knowing that they were in no position to chat. He fired his P90 as another dart whirled above him, and another followed behind, biting off chunks of the vicious machines.

"Beckett!" Sheppard called. "Report!"

"We're fine. We're all… well and good here," Beckett breathlessly. "That was worse than the first time. I … if I'm reading the displays correctly we've lost most of our power with that one blow. We won't stand another."

"Do what you can," Sheppard responded, knowing that the words were little comfort.

"Aye," Beckett responded in a halfhearted tone.

Another arm of the Wraith fleet broke off, and came at them. Sheppard stood over Teyla, protecting her with the P90, firing everything he had into the ships. Gilbert and Clemmon assisted with their weapons. Two more darts spewed black smoke as they were driven from the sky.

Ronon knocked out another, but John made a grim face, knowing it was only a matter of time and they'd be done for.

They couldn't keep this up. But they wouldn't stop trying.

"Ronon!" Sheppard shouted again. "The weapon? Today would be great!"

Ronon insisted, "It's preparing. I can feel it."

And then, it began to hail. Hard BB-sized balls came down at them. Great, just what we need.

Snarling in aggravation, John swiped at his face, as the darts swung closer. He fired again, and then dropped the P90 to pick up the EMP weapon again.

PART 16: CHATTER  
He wanted to speak. He wanted to help. But his head felt trapped in a vice, everything spun and his whole world felt wasted and torn. He couldn't move. His body was like lead.

His head felt swollen, his hands unusable.

He felt sick and disoriented, as if he'd been spun on a carnival ride. He ached.

The Zipper, he thought. Definitely like he'd just stepped down from the Zipper. Why did he let those kids convince him to take try that ride? Thought he could be 'cool' like them. Thought they'd let him hang out with them. Just a joke.

Oh God… he felt like he was going to throw up.

He was aware of noise all around him, yet hardly understood what it meant. Not the carnival, he was at least sure of that.

People were shouting. A series of high whines punctuated the air. Someone was shooting a gun near him.

Something exploded, something loud. Things were falling all around.

He licked his lips and tried to turn his head, wincing and failing. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The diffused light hurt, and he squinted up at a man. Didn't recognize him. The man went away.

Above him, on top of some sort of machine, he could see another man, a big man. Should know who that is, he thought. Should know.

Wait… Ronon. It's Ronon. Somehow, that realization made him feel better.

Things flashed through the sky, too quick for his pained eyes to track. What were they? Silvery fireflies maybe? The troposphere seemed to be in turmoil.

He was cold. His head hurt.

The sound hurt his ears. He wished it would stop. Then something started hitting him, peppering him, like tiny pebbles. It hurt too. He squinted against it -- so many tiny hurts, adding to his already mountainous pile of pain.

The shouting rose in intensity.

When he tried to focus he could see out through a maze of broken things, out into a great field of gold. He focused on the gold a moment.

But even as the wash of yellow filled his sight, something seemed to destroy it -- a great blackness, a column. It writhed and danced, undulating. He watched it, feeling detached and alone.

The column moved, twisting, turning.

He swallowed thickly and watched the thing, watched as the silver fireflies swarmed.  
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Ronon hunched as the darts impacted on the shield. Dagger-shaped bits of metal strafed him.

Pain flared as shrapnel sliced at his arms, his shoulders, his sides. Something big came at his face and he barely deflected it with his hand, gaining another bruise for the effort. All around him, burning and shredded bits of Wraith dart bombarded the group.

Ronon flashed a glance toward Rodney, finding Fernald huddled over him, trying to protect him. The kid straightened, gasping lightly as he felt the scrapes and cuts on his back and arms. He gazed at the Satedan, and looked shocked for a moment, then schooled his expression quickly.

Ronon could feel his newly gained wounds oozing, feel the blood that dripped from stinging cuts. There seemed to be a lot of them. He had no time to tend them. 

The young Colo quickly stood, lifting his borrowed Beretta in case any of the Wraith dared come near.

Beckett and Sheppard's voices sounded over the radio. He listened without hearing them as he lifted his blaster to the sky. Beside the cannon, Huxley was firing the grenade launcher.

By Ronon's reckoning, they were nearly out of ammo. They weren't going to give up. Darts still circled. There was no time to do anything but fight.

Beneath his feet, the whirring of the EMP cannon seemed to increase in volume. He could feel a numbness reaching for him.

He pulled his blaster from its holster and fired it at the closest of the darts, watching with a grim smile as he took off a good part of the nose, sending the craft spiraling into the dirt.

All around him, broken bits of building and dart littered the ground. Red letters still scrolled across the EMP weapon's screen. What was it doing? Had he broken it? Was this all for nothing?

Hail started to fall in hard tiny balls. With a growl Ronon searched for his next target. They would know that Ronon Dex had stood here – had fought. They would remember him. He aimed.

But the dart suddenly lifted.

Dex frowned, feeling annoyed and denied. It wasn't like the Wraith to break off an attack.

He watched, curious, as the hail increased, as ships rose in the atmosphere and, as one, made a charge in the opposite direction.

And then saw it… tornado. Even miles away, it was huge, and black as death, it tore through the fields. It roared.

Ronon stood on the control platform for the EMP cannon as the darts went after the twister like bugs after honey.

It didn't make sense.

And he felt the numbness in his legs as the gauge finally went all green, the red letters went away, and mechanism beneath him seemed to gasp.

He smiled.  
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Sheppard fired, alternating between weapons.

Gilbert proved to be a pro with the P90, and Clemmon, with only a rifle, was as accurate as any marksman on their team. They had been able to keep the darts at bay, but the Wraith wouldn't stop.

Teyla sat at his feet, her back arched, her face taut, as she held her contact with the Hive ship.

The Wraith had grown progressively bolder, coming at them as steadily as the hail that pelted down.

How long would it take for that damn EMP cannon to fire?

Teyla remained quiet in spite of the pummeling by the pea-sized hail, her face drawn up in a grimace as she stayed in contact with the hive's systems, hiding the power signature of the big gun.

She made a soft sound, little more than a sigh, a gasp.

He chanced only a glance at her, seeing her expression change slightly. She looked almost – pleased with herself.

And he gazed back up at the sky, the darts made a beeline across the sky.

He heard the roar, and spun. His eyes widened in surprise.

For a moment he had a flashback of Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton and flying cows. A goddamn tornado! It had to be a F-5 - the biggest and the meanest of the breed. The tornado, even at a distance, was freaking huge. It chewed up the fields, throwing up a cloud of dust and dirt and golden wheat-like grass.

He found himself almost unable to breathe as he took in the sight.

The tornado carved through the distant fields like a dreadnought in the Atlantic.

The darts crossed the miles in a flash, heading into the whirlwind as if they might be capable of fighting it. They dove at the twister, striking into its outer surface, just to be tossed higgledy-piggledy in all directions.

The ships were spun and pitched ass over teakettle, sent spiraling into the ground. The tornado tossed them like toys.

Sheppard ducked as one out-of-control ship was zinged over their heads to impact far behind them.

And the ships kept up their pointless attack.

Sheppard puzzled at the inanity of the Wraith that dared fight a tornado. They kept driving toward it, firing into it, knocking out their own ships in the chaos. More darts filling the sky, replacing those that were knocked asunder.

But darts kept coming. More of them, filling the sky.

Shit… Sheppard thought, raising the weapon again. God, would there be no end to them?

And then, it happened. He felt it, like a punch to the sternum. He gasped, and shook his head. What the hell? He glanced at the EMP gun in his hand and realized what had happened. Quietly, invisibly, the EMP cannon – that big beautiful gun… had finally fired!

And then he saw the effect. The remaining ships cut off their attack. They spun about and headed straight upward, gaining altitude, in a hell-bent-for-leather attempt to return to the hive.

Then, mid-air, they all stopped, their noses still pointing skyward for a moment, before they tipped over like bi-planes performing the hammer-head stunt, and all plummeted.

"I think it fired," Ronon stated over the radio. And then he laughed, adding, "Cool."

All around them, the Wraith darts fell, diving into the ground, exploding like fireworks as they hit. 

The tornado, weakened by its battle with the darts, came apart. The funnel broke, the clouds parted, leaving a series of dust devils that spun into nothing, leaving the sky alone.

Sheppard let out a breath, glancing to Clemmon and Gilbert, who looked shaken, but whole. He placed a hand on Teyla's shoulder and smiled at her as she blinked and looked up at him.

"Fight the tornado?" he asked her.

She smiled, and then closed her eyes as if still trying to clear her mind. "They were confused by its appearance. I simply gave them the suggestion that it hid an incredible weapon. They had to destroy it, at all costs."

"Good idea," Sheppard told her. He offered her a hand, and she stood, shakily. "Let's check with the others. And, it's time we got that Gate flipped, don't you think?"  
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Beckett brought down the shield with a sigh of relief, and did a quick check of the people around him. The Colo were shocked, huddling together in clusters, but unscathed.

Oh, thank God, he thought. He would haven't been able to handle it if anything had happened to these people while they were under his care. And he smiled slightly in relief, proud of himself for accomplishing it. The wretched Wraith device still stood, unmarred and un-deployed. Thank God, he thought again.

Now, he just wanted to get his group back together. They were too spread out.

But first, Carson moved to Albion, glad to find her awake.

"It looks like that did it," Beckett declared, nodding up to the sky that remained cloudy, but seemed far less threatening than only moments earlier.

"Thank you," she said softly. "To you and the others. Thank you. There's so much…" But she paused, as if she couldn't bring herself to say more.

Carson nodded in response. "I'll be back on a moment," he told her as he grabbed his bag. "I need to check on Rodney -- blasted fool, running off to play on giant guns when he can hardly walk at all. I'll be back before you even miss me."

As he turned to leave their protected space, he was struck by the difference between the area that had been beneath the dome, and that which had been without. Where he stood was clean and relatively orderly. But, just a step beyond was cratered, littered with debris, bits of Wraith and their darts, hail, smashed up buildings – and acrid smoke. It was like a different world.

They'd been so lucky. Well, it wasn't all luck was it? They had damn fine people on their side.

He was about to cross into the debris when he noted the activity in the street – a small group heading toward him.

Ronon was in the lead, moving quickly and carrying Rodney like a child. Huxley hustled beside him, acting as if he wanted to help, but Ronon was giving him no opportunity. Three of the Colo followed behind. Ames was gone.

They were all bloodied and bruised in some way or another. Ronon's face and arms were streaked with red as he clutched Rodney to his chest and continued moving at his hurried pace as if he was afraid of slowing down for a moment.

The Colo in Ronon's party broke into a run when they saw the rest of their people. Beckett registered them rushing past him, heard the joyful shouts, recognized the sounds of people embracing one another. It was the noise of relief and release – people who thought they might never see their loved ones again.

Beckett stumbled forward getting clear of the first ring of debris. "Ronon!" he shouted, "Here, son, let me give you a hand."

Ronon just grunted, and said curtly, "I got him." He moved with relative ease as he stepped over the broken remains of darts and buildings, carrying McKay so that the scientist's head rested on his shoulder. Rodney's eyes remained shut, his face lax in spite of the indignity of being hauled around, once again, like a bag of laundry.

Huxley followed them, looking chagrinned at his inability to do anything, but appeared ready to help catch Ronon's burden if his great strength ever gave out.

It didn't.

Once he was within the safe circle of the Meeting Hall, Ronon shuffled McKay to the nearest bench and, panting from the exertion, gently settled the scientist, being especially careful of his head. He stepped back immediately to let Beckett in.

"What happened?" Beckett asked urgently.

Ronon was still catching his breath, so Huxley spoke, "He was disoriented, and collapsed while on that big gun. Ronon barely caught him. He could've taken one hell of a fall."

"I wouldn't have let him fall," Ronon asserted.

"Well, yeah," Huxley confirmed quickly with a nod, as one who didn't dare argue. "Dr. McKay was out of it. He was shaking earlier. Still sort of shivering now. Can't say much more about his current condition because…" and he looked up at Ronon. "… Specialist Dex didn't give me a chance to check him over."

"Needed to get him to you," Ronon declared setting his gaze on Beckett and crossing his arms over his chest. "You would help him."

Beckett sighed, always amazed at Ronon's unswerving faith in him.

With help, Carson was able to get Rodney out of the coat, muttering as he saw the state of the bandages hidden under the cloth. "Oh, Rodney," he sighed. "If I knew you were going to do this, I'd never've leant you the jacket."

Beckett checked Rodney as the Colo put up a commotion around them, asking repeatedly if the attack was over, if they were safe now. Beckett didn't listen, too busy with his task, doing what he could to bring the bleeding back under control.

Ronon didn't seem to care about anything the Colo had to say, intent on watching the sky. There was no telling if the weapon had completely shut down the hive, and Ronon wasn't going to abandon his task. He stayed near Beckett and McKay.

It was left to Huxley to assuage the Colos' anxiety. Carson, too busy to listen, heard only the Private's tone and wondered if Huxley realized he sounded as if he were talking to little children.

Finally, with the chattering of the mob dying down, Carson sat back on his heels and gazed up to Ronon. "As far as I can tell, he's mostly exhausted, but he's probably suffering from blood loss, dehydration, and God help us, a bit of hypoglycemia. I don't think he's been able to keep down a bite." He inclined his head toward the dressing. "I've done what I could with the bandages. I daren't remove what's already there, but I've added what I could. It'd be best if I don't disturb the wound if I don't have to. We might have to resort to tearing cloth into strips and boiling it if we need more." He sighed, and added, "Now, I just need him to be still. I need to get him hydrated and he could probably stand a transfusion. With his concussion, I fear we may be facing something worse, and there's only so much I can do for him here," Beckett said, frustration filling his voice. "We need Atlantis."

"Sheppard's fixing the Gate," Ronon mentioned, his eyes still scanning.

"Only a matter of time and we'll be home. Couldn't be soon enough for me."

"He wouldn't wake up," Ronon proclaimed unhappily. "I tried to wake him."

"Aye," Beckett responded sadly. He rested hand against Rodney's cheek for a moment, hating that he didn't have a means of looking into that thick skull and into that incredible brain to assure himself that everything was going to be all right. He could feel the chill in the man's skin. 

"Daft man," he whispered. "You just about did yourself in this time."

Rodney shivered.

There was a shuffle, and Beckett looked up. Ronon held the quilt that Rodney had been using earlier – with the bright yellow and white design. Carson took it with a grateful smile and spread it over the scientist.

"Now, let me take a look at you, Ronon. Seems you're a little worse for wear."

Ronon shrugged. "It's not bad," he declared. "Couple of scrapes. I don't need anything."

"I'll be the judge of that," Beckett declared.

With a narrow gaze, Ronon regarded him. "Not necessary."

"Now, Ronon," Beckett said, a sharpness entering his voice. "Do you doubt what I know? You're bleeding. I can fix it. Don't be an idiot. Sit down here, next to Rodney, right now, or I swear I'll make you."

Ronon raised his chin a moment, but did as he was told, sitting beside Rodney's head. 

"Good," Beckett proclaimed. He made a gesture toward Huxley, commenting, "I'll have a look at the rest of your lot when I'm done, but it looks like you received the worst of it, Ronon."

Ronon just grunted as he let Beckett checkout his cuts and bruises, the damage that the flying bits of Wraith had done. The doctor did his work in silence as Ronon kept watch on the room, the sky, and occasionally glancing to McKay.

"How was it?" Beckett asked softly.

Ronon crinkled his brow. "How was what?"

The doctor smiled slightly. "Firing that big gun."

To that, Ronon gave a nod. "I liked it."

Quietly, someone cleared their throat nearby, and asked, "Ames?" 

Ronon and Beckett turned to find Albion on the next bench, she was half sitting in her attempt to see the Satedan.

"Lass, you'll need to sit back," Beckett told her firmly. "You've been through an awful trauma and it'd be best if you…"

"Ames?" Albion asked again, her eyes on Ronon. "He didn't come back with you."

Ronon turned, and stared forward as Beckett probed at a nasty laceration across his biceps. "Didn't make it," he said finally, knowing that she would persist until she knew his fate.

"Oh," she said softly, settling back on the bench. For a moment or two, she was silent, and Beckett was left to his work, stitching up Ronon's cuts as the Satedan kept stoically silent. Then, in an almost dreamlike voice, she said, "It's for the best."

Beckett glanced to Ronon, seeing a satisfied expression. Obviously the Satedan agreed with her pronouncement.

She continued in the same quiet voice, "The Wraith found us out in the fields. Ames, Alleman and Zearing were with me as we surveyed the lands. The Wraith surprised us. They fed on us. We didn't stand a chance." Her voice had a hollow tone to it. "We were dying. I remember, I remember, looking to the others, my friends, my dear friends, and seeing the terror of what they'd done to us. I knew that we would soon be gone, but at least we'd be together. Death was coming."

"The Wraith came back at us, and I knew it was the end. One touched Ames, and in my mind I said 'goodbye' to him. But … but… the creature gave him back his life – he was restored. Ames was euphoric!"

She took a slow breath, and stated, "He begged them to restore me, he told them I was the governor of the town, that I was necessary, that they could have anything they wanted if they would return me to life. The Wraith asked for the power source in trade, as proof that we trusted them. They promised never to hurt us again if we would give them the device."

Beckett continued his quiet work. Ronon didn't make a sound as his wounds were closed. 

Albion continued to speak, quietly, staring up at the open sky above the bench. "Ames went to the town and returned with the power-source. He'd promised the council that the Wraith would provide life to all. We would be like the Ancestors."

She closed her eyes, her voice a quiet whisper, "The Wraith came at us. They went first to Alleman, and I was joyful, thinking he would be saved next, but they took him, took his life, reduced him to dust. I wanted to scream, but it was as if my throat was closed. Next was Zearing and I wanted to shout my sorrow. And I was next."

She drew a deep, shuddering breath and said, "I was resigned to go – to join Zearing and Alleman. I would be with them and I wouldn't be afraid. The Wraith, that horrible beast, touched me. I could feel my skin crawl. Then it came. It was a rush of power, of energy, of life." She held up her hands, as if she were remembering the sensation. "It overpowered me, like a dozen sensations at once. It was like a drug, but bitter, so bitter."

"They took Zearing and Alleman." Her breath hitched. "They took what was left of their lives to give me back mine. And then, when that was done, they revealed the second part of their bargain." She looked toward Beckett and Ronon. "Give up the people who lived in the city of the Ancestors, or they'd take back what they'd given us."

She sat up again, painfully, slowly, to look at Ronon. "I am sorry. I am so sorry." She eased herself down again and continued to look at the sky.

Ronon said nothing, but Beckett, sitting beside him, noted a strangely inscrutable expression cross the man's face. He wasn't sure that Ronon believed the woman. Instead of offering the woman any sign of sympathy, the Satedan turned to Rodney, and laid a hand quietly on him, as if to assure himself that the scientist was still with them.

PART 17: THWAP  
John Sheppard loved to fly.

He loved flying more than just about anything. Put him in the seat of an aircraft and he was happy. He'd flown Wraith darts before. He knew what he was getting into, but it didn't stop him from being creeped out by the dart.

The ship just wasn't "right".

He still liked the flying part though.

There was little time to think about it. Certainly, some of the Wraith in the fallen darts survived their crashes. Most of the ships in the final attack had fallen far from them, but a dedicated Wraith could cross the distance quickly.

It was only a matter of time before the Hive was able to awaken from the EMP Pulse, repair itself, and go back into action. Of course, if they were lucky, the wraith would suffocate without life support -- or maybe the ship would burn up if it was drawn toward the planet's gravity. That would be cool.

So, there was little room for messing around. He sent up a thank you to Radcliff and Woodward, Luther and Valeria for getting the Gate prepped so quickly. The sooner they all left this ruined planet, the better. He had to bring his people home.

'Their' dart had shaken off its stupor by the time he reached it again. He jumped into the pilot seat, lowered the hood and was airborne in seconds. Teyla was at the Gate by the time he reached it, looking a little wan. Communicating with the Wraith always left her played-out and she moved with a muddled expression.

He landed long enough for Teyla and the Colo to attach the cables to the dart as best they could.

Would this even work? How heavy did McKay say the Gate was? Something about 'damn heavy' and 'elephants'. It would be one hell of a grunt.

So, once Teyla and the others were satisfied with the attachment, Sheppard told them to "Step back. In fact, why don't you step WAY back? Why don't you jog toward the town a bit?" He had nightmare visions of cables snapping, of friends cut in two, of the giant Gate rolling like a penny for miles.

Once they were clear, he activated the dart's controls and said, "Here we go."

He lifted off easily enough, but once the dart felt the weight at the ends of the cables as he hovered, the engines fought. He could hear the struggle, feel the ship tremble and curse at him. The stressed materials screamed bloody murder as he pressed the ship upward. The cables sang under stress.

"One end is lifting," Teyla declared over the radio.

The dart pitched, the front dipping as he forced the ship upward in its hover. He fought it, bringing it level. The ship seemed to shriek at him, spewing hatred, but he jammed the controls upward, giving it no leeway. Everything vibrated around him.

"John?" Teyla called anxiously. "John, are you certain the ship will withstand this?"

It must have been making a hell of a sound from outside, too, he realized.

"John," Teyla called again. "It's destroying the ship! Will you be safe?"

"I don't give a crap if this destroys the ship." And at the moment, he didn't quite care if he was safe either. They had no time for pussyfooting around. They needed to get Rodney back to Atlantis -- they needed to get everyone off the planet. Any moment, they'd be overcome with Wraith. He was not going to leave his people stuck in this mess. "All I want to do is…" He put more power to the ship. It wailed and shimmied in distress. "… flip the damn GATE."

Another burst of power and he felt the Gate come fully upright beneath him. It rested for a moment on its edge, but the dart, maxed out on power, and without the full weight of the Gate holding it back, surged forward, slinging the Gate with it.

With wide eyes and a second from impact, John fought the controls, bringing the nose of the dart up just as the ship and the Gate belly-flopped into the ground with a THWAP.

He felt the impact in his bones, in every sinew of his body. His ears rang and for a moment or two, the world dimmed. His teeth hurt. He couldn't breathe.

"John! John!"

Ow… yeah… hurt. He felt crushed. He gasped again, the wind knocked out of him.

"John!"

He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his head. He gagged and choked as he finally was able to draw in a lungful of air. Smoke, thick foul smoke filled the cockpit.

He struggled to breathe. The cockpit felt distorted, as if it had folded in on him. Blindly, he felt about, and reached for the cabin release, and blowing the top off the maligned craft.

Fresh air reached him, but he coughed as the smoke kept billowing. He struggled, trying to free himself. The ship was mashed, deformed, and on fire – whether it was from the impact or the cruel use, Sheppard couldn't be sure. He just knew that he was having a hell of a time getting out, and that the flames were getting closer.

Hands reached for him. Through the simmering clouds of smoke, he saw Teyla's concerned face. She grasped his arms and tugged. He twisted his foot one-way and flexed a leg and suddenly he could feel himself coming free. He crawled, working his way out of the mess.

Teyla pulled again, and he flopped out of the ship, falling almost on top of her as they collapsed into the bent wheat. Clemmon and Gilbert were suddenly there, offering help, getting them to their feet and way from the shattered dart. Sheppard hobbled, feeling aches and hurts all through his body.

Once out of the stench of the smoke, he turned.

The Gate didn't look that much different. It still lay flat on the ground, but this time, the chevrons were visible. It faced a prefect concave copy of itself, indented into the soil. 

He'd managed it.

All they needed to do was detach the cables that connected it to the broken dart and wire it into the DHD to power it. Might take some doing, but the hard part was over.

With a sigh of relief, Sheppard looked to Teyla and found her smiling at him.

"Time to get the hell out of here," John declared, thankful and goddamn glad. He couldn't wait to get back with his team, make sure that they were all okay. "Let's get everyone moving."

"How will we walk through the wormhole," she asked and gestured to the strange position of the Gate. "How will we do it without injuring …" she paused, taking in John's appearance, "… without further injuring ourselves and the others."

"I hadn't thought about that," John told her, rolling one shoulder -- stopping quickly as the ache took control. "We'll work something out."  
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The klaxon sounded as the chevrons illuminated on the stargate. "Off-world activation," the Canadian technician declared, and then a grin his face as he declared, "It's Colonel Sheppard's IDC!"

A happy chatter rose up around her in the gateroom.

Weir spun to face the event horizon, feeling a mountain of stress fall from her shoulders. Thank you, she thought. Thank you.

She signaled to Chuck to lower the shield as she touched her radio. "Colonel?" she called, worried and relieved at the same time. "We were unable to make contact. What happened?"

"Had a bit of a problem with the Gate," John drawled over the radio.

She smiled, grateful to hear him. "Is that all?" she asked.

"Tornadoes, buildings falling on certain scientists, really big guns, Wraith, paralytic agents… that sort of thing."

Weir stiffened, and asked, "Is everyone all right?"

There was a pause. "We lost Radcliff and Woodward," he said, his voice betraying his hurt even as he kept the words even.

Elizabeth sighed at the news, feeling a sorrow sweep over her. "Understood," she said softly.

"And McKay's a lot worse for the wear. He'll need the infirmary. Hell, most of us will need a visit." He sounded infinitely tired.

Weir nodded to Chuck, and the technician sent the message through to the infirmary. A medical team would be there in a matter of moments. "We're ready," Weir told him.

"Great. We're coming home," Sheppard announced. "Ah, might be a bit unconventional."

Weir frowned at the statement, and then looked in disbelief as Teyla came through the event horizon, rolling on her side and into the gateroom. She stopped herself quickly and stood, looking toward Weir with a smile. She looked a little battered, scratched and disheveled, but otherwise well – except for the crease of her forehead that told of a weariness.

She stepped out of the way for Beckett, who came through the same way.

Beckett climbed to his knees and called over the radio, "All right then, we're through. Send him over, nice and easy now."

Rodney was the next one to roll through the event horizon. He'd gone no further than a few inches before Teyla and Beckett, caught him.

Weir furrowed her brow, concerned. McKay, bandaged and bruised, feebly lifted a hand as they maneuvered him. The Marines in the gate room edged forward to help and they gingerly moved him out of the way.

"Careful... careful..." Beckett ordered the men as they helped move the scientist. "Hang on there, Rodney," he told the bloodied and beaten man as they settled him out of the way.

"Rodney?" Weir called, astounded. The scientist looked as if a house had been dropped on him. She looked toward Beckett, alarmed. "We have people on the way, Carson," she told him.

The doctor nodded gratefully and gave her a quiet smile, seeming glad to simply be back on familiar turf. He gave Rodney a soft pat on the arm and the man made a quiet murmur.

"We are ready," Teyla announced.

Ronon came through next, followed by a cascade of tumbling packs and gear. The Satedan was scraped, cut and bruised – with fresh bandages coming a little undone after his unconventional means of entering the gateroom. He made a quick job of clearing the obstacles. Then, he stood, a grim look on his face as he approached the event horizon. "Done," he said over the radio.

"We're sending them through," Sheppard announced.

Weir watched in fascination, wondering what was going to happen next. Her silent question was sadly answered when a form came through, wrapped in a quilt. Ronon quickly caught the body, easing it down the steps. When the Marine guards moved forward to help, Ronon gave them a sharp shake of the head to make them back off, and he placed the body on the opposite side of the gate from Rodney.

Beckett was talking to his people over the radio, issuing orders on what he needed when they arrived.

The Satedan glanced up to Weir before he returned to his place at the event horizon. He touched his radio. "Okay." And the second body rolled in, wrapped in what must have once been a pretty wall hanging. He eased the second body down to where the Marines stood near the first.

That done, Ronon announced, "We're clear."

Huxley rolled through, followed by Sheppard. John stopped himself quickly and stood, with some effort as he cradled a strange looking weapon in his arms. He glanced at McKay and the rest of his people, before turning to Weir and stating, "That was different."

The two stood – Huxley cut and battered – Sheppard with healing scrapes, but standing as if every muscle in his body hurt.

Weir's face screwed up in confusion. "Why…?" she started.

Sheppard lifted a hand. "Gate was on its back."

"And, should I ask, how in did you manage to knock a stargate on its back?" Weir asked, exasperated.

"Hey! Why do you think it was us?" Sheppard asked. "Haven't you ever heard of natural disasters?"

Weir cocked her head and gave him that look.

"Okay, so we were the ones that knocked it on its back, but don't blame us for how it fell the first time!" Sheppard declared.

"And so, you rolled through?" Weir prompted.

"Once we figured out where the 'bottom' of the ring was, we thought the easiest way to go through was to lay down on the face of the Gate and roll over the edge and into the wormhole." Sheppard jammed thumb at Ronon, wobbling slightly at that movement. "He wanted to take a run and jump. You know, a cannonball. Figured we saved him some broken bones with our idea. Worked."

Ronon shrugged and looked annoyed.

"And you were sure this would work?" Weir stated, not sounding convinced, watching as Beckett checked over his patient.

"We tried it out on the Colo first," Sheppard explained smugly. "Needed to get them off the planet because, in spite of everything, they didn't deserve to be Wraith kibble. We let one of the use a radio and started rolling them through." He smiled, pleased with himself. "Sent them to a planet of their choice. Radioed them to make sure we were using a good angle and that no one was dropping from the top of the Gate or something. Figure we can pick up the radio later."

With a sigh, he continued "Didn't really have a lot of time to waste. What with the Wraith about to come back at any moment, and the C4 about to go off." When Weir raised her eyebrows, he explained, "Had to dispose of a couple things. Make sure the Wraith didn't get their hands on them."

Beckett stood, stating, "And I'll need to be checking in on some of the Colo, they're still under my care."

Weir nodded, "We'll send a team," she stated as she looked over the doctor. The man was exhausted. "You're going to get some rest."

Carson looked ready to fight her, but instead conceded with an, "Aye."

Returning her gaze to John, Weir wondered about the device in his grasp, but decided that she would ask more questions later. They all looked like hell. This wasn't the time for further questioning.

With a clatter and a bustle of activity, a gurney and a couple wheelchairs arrived with the medical teams. Under Beckett's supervision, Rodney was quickly and carefully lifted to the first transport.

Rodney blinked blearily as he stared up at Beckett, seeming more asleep than awake. He smiled crookedly, perhaps recognizing the ceiling of Atlantis, then a panicked look crossed his face and he fought, trying to sit up. "Wait, wait," he rasped.

"It's all right, Rodney," Beckett said softly, pressing him back down. "Calm down."

"But…" McKay started, "Where's…"

"We're here," Sheppard told him, stepping close enough for Rodney to see him. "We made it back, Rodney. Teyla and Ronon, too." He patted his friend lightly on the chest, and McKay's eyes closed as he drifted back to sleep.

With a nod, Beckett directed his staff, and the gurney was wheeled away, back toward the infirmary.

When Sheppard and Ronon tried to follow, Beckett cut them off quickly and pointed to the two wheelchairs. "You boys are getting a ride today," he explained, his voice even and uncompromising.

"I can walk," Sheppard declared.

"After you tangled with a tornado and then crashed a dart straight into the ground? I think not," Beckett countered. 

Weir gasped, asking, "What did you say?"

Sheppard waved away her concern. "It's nothing," he told her. "Nothing."

Beckett kept talking. "Colonel, you're hardly steady on your feet and I won't have you breaking bones on your way to the infirmary. And don't YOU try to get out of it!" he said, turning on Ronon. "After carryin' Rodney over half the planet, and all my work stitching you back to together, you're getting a ride."

Sheppard looked to Ronon, expecting a fight, but the big man knew better. There was no point in combating Beckett in anything medical. The doctor always won. The Satedan, like a well-trained dog, settled into one of the chairs without another word.

Looking a little disgusted, Sheppard took the other, settling the gun in his lap.

Huxley stepped closer to Beckett. "What about me?" he asked, holding his arms so that the worst of his scrapes were hidden.

"Son," Beckett said with a smile. "You can walk."

With that, the medic gave Sheppard a triumphant smile and started toward the infirmary.

Beckett turned, taking in the Athosian, who stood with her head bowed and her brow furrowed, the scrapes from her early encounter with the tornado were still visible. "Teyla, lass, you're coming, too. I'll give you something for that headache. Everyone, now."

Beckett started to the infirmary, with Teyla beside him and the two wheelchairs following, leaving Weir with the rest of the Gate Room staff to wonder what the hell just happened.  
88888888888888888888888888  
John moved carefully through the corridors of Atlantis, feeling the strained muscles and aches from the crash landing, the lashing from the earlier encounter with the tornado. All he wanted to do was sit in his quarters and relax -- and maybe take in a movie.

After all they'd been through, he figured he deserved it. They'd discovered a powerful new weapon, defeated a Wraith Hive and its complement of darts, righted and flattened a Gate.

It was a pity they had to blow up the EMP Cannon, but they couldn't allow it to fall into the hands of the Wraith. He lost no sleep over blowing up the Wraith canister – timers were helpful things, indeed. With any luck, whatever was in that bomb would knock out the Wraith too – probably not, but they could always hope.

Yes, time to sit back and relax. 

The thing was, he realized that he could just as easily accomplish this goal in another location. So he moved through the hallway, counting the steps, feeling every one of his bruises, until he reached the quarters that connected to the main lab.

McKay would enjoy ' The Blues Brothers'. And, it would probably be better if the astrophysicist had company. Someone should keep an eye on him if he was recovering from a head wound, right?

Beckett had been able to get a CT scan for McKay and checking him over with the Ancients' scanners. The CMO was finally relieved to discover no permanent damage – nothing that a few meds, bed rest, a pint or two of blood, sufficient hydration and a good meal couldn't solve. So, after keeping him for a day in the infirmary, and finding him coherent and irritated, the newly re-patched physicist was allowed to return to his room if he behaved himself.

Someone should check to make sure, Sheppard reasoned.

Sheppard lifted his hand to activate the chime at the door and heard a booming laugh and strange music. The door slid open.

Apparently, he wasn't the first one to come up with this idea.

McKay was sitting up in bed, on top of the covers, with a bunch of pillows shoved behind him to cushion his back and head. He was still a little too pale, still bandaged and bruised, but infinitely better than he'd been on the planet. Rodney's expression pinched, showing annoyance, but the aggrieved expression melted when he realized who it was.

He offered Sheppard only a tilt of the head. John accepted that as his invitation.

Ronon had pulled the desk chair up beside Rodney and was using the bed for his footrest. McKay didn't look too happy about having Ronon's boots beside him. Teyla had moved another chair into the room – by the look of the seat, it was the one that usually occupied the hall outside of McKay's quarters – and she sat with her legs curled under her. Somehow, she'd managed to get her hands on some popcorn. She held it in her lap as she smiled up at Sheppard.

Ronon and McKay were both bandaged and bruised. Teyla still looked rather spent. The movie continued to play on McKay's laptop on the nearby desk.

Ronon laughed again, boisterously, and Sheppard caught a glimpse of flying monkeys tearing apart a scarecrow.

When Sheppard gave McKay a strange look, the scientist jabbed at thumb in Ronon's direction. "His choice," he said long-sufferingly.

Sheppard held up his DVD. "It's 106 miles to Chicago, we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and we're wearing sunglasses."

Ronon looked away from the screen long enough to check the cover of the movie. "We're on a mission from God!" he quoted seriously, and returned his attention to the laptop's screen where the tin man and the lion were smashing bits of straw back into the scarecrow. He laughed again.

Sheppard shook his head and moved further into Rodney's room. He still looked sick, Sheppard realized. With Teyla and Ronon sitting on either side of the bed, he also appeared rather trapped in place. Sheppard grinned.

"Hey," he said, remembering. He pulled something from his pocket and pitched it at the scientist.

Rodney fumbled it at his chest, frowning as he tried to read the box. "Toothpaste?"

"You said you were out," Sheppard responded. "We wouldn't want you to walk around here and not be minty fresh." He gave McKay's feet a thwap, forcing the man to move them over, and Sheppard found a place at the foot of the bed. 

Rodney grumbled and set the tube of toothpaste on his bedside table.

Teyla, looking more relaxed than she had since she connected with the Wraith, handed Sheppard a bowl of popcorn after he was settled. He took a handful and shoved the bowl at Ronon.

"Hey," McKay cried. "What about me? I'm the one that's really hurt. The rest of you got off easy."

Ronon took a massive handful of popcorn and pushed the bowl back at Sheppard who grabbed more, and finally, with a look of reluctance, passed it over to Rodney.

The Canadian took the bowl, with a scowl, and settled it on his lap, determined to keep it in his possession for a while.

He looked better, John realized -- still pale and a bit unsteady. Beckett had ordered him to take it easy for the next few days – which for McKay usually meant he would try to work 12 hour days instead of the regular 16 to 20 hours.

It was a rarity that Rodney would simply remain in his room without some sort of project to keep him occupied.

Sheppard gazed at Teyla and Ronon, knowing why they'd come here, understanding why the laptop was currently being used for 'movie night'. He recognized that Teyla had brought a DVD, too. "The Princess Bride" was tucked beside her, to wait its turn.

Ronon laughed again as the Wicked Witch of the West's green face filled the screen and Teyla smiled, amused at how much the Satedan enjoyed the show. McKay did his best to bogart the bowl of popcorn, but Teyla was able to free it from his grasp with little more than a smile.

And Sheppard knew the real reason why they'd all ended up here. It wasn't just duty to their friend. It was just nice to be together, without doom hanging over their heads. It was nice to be home. There was no place like it.

Sheppard settled back, cozying closer to McKay's feet to annoy him, to make him give up an inch or two of space. McKay complained. Ronon told him to stuff it – he was trying to watch the movie.

It was good. It was rather nice.

The door chimed and opened, revealing Beckett with what looked like a pizza. He stood, stunned, in the doorway. "Oh," he stated. "I didn't know you had company."

McKay looked flustered. "I didn't invite them," he grumbled.

"We don't need an invitation," Sheppard stated. "What's yours is ours." And he stood and reached out toward Beckett's pizza, taking it from his care. How did Carson get his hands on one of those when it wasn't even pizza night in the Mess?

Carson smiled, looking rather happy, and joined the party, dragging another of the hallway chairs into the room – filling what spare space was left. Ronon laughed at the poor plight of Dorothy Gale.

They tore into the pizza and the movie played on.

THE END


End file.
